DEADLY REMAINS

Katherine M. Bayless

SCRY MEDIA LLC

This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

DEADLY REMAINS

A Scry Media Book / published by arrangement with the author

All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2010 by Katherine M. Bayless

Cover art copyright © 2010 Scry Media LLC

No part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law.  Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.  Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

The Scry Media LLC World Wide Web site address is

http://www.scrymedia.com

ISBN:  978-0-9846211-0-1

For my husband Scot, who never let me doubt that writing a book was possible.

Acknowledgements

Scot deserves thanks not only for his encouragement, but also for the hours devoted to reading, editing, and explaining the intricacies of English grammar—sometimes to a grumpy recipient.  Trish and Sarina, my trusted first readers, your honest opinions and helpful suggestions were invaluable.  Without Agnes, my French dialog would have been barely accurate web translations.  Thank you, Dave, for your last minute, diligent edits.  Mom, I know it isn’t your typical fare, but thanks for giving it a whirl.

CHAPTER ONE

Gloves are the mark of a clairvoyant.  Of course, if you’re over twenty-five, then the true mark is the small tattoo on each of your hands, just above the first thumb knuckle.  No, not scarlet—blue.  Blue ink.  Blue is the color that fades the least over time, or so I’ve been told.  The government would know.  They’ve had over a hundred years of perfecting the craft—a hundred years and thousands of test subjects.  Even if someone tried to get rid of the marks, the scars were a dead giveaway.  Once they got you, it was for life.

Five years after I was born, the tattooing stopped.  I can have mine removed legally now, just a simple procedure and a little pain, but there’s not much point.  I have to wear gloves if I don’t want to go insane, and they mark me anyway, especially when it’s the middle of July and 98 degrees outside.  Not that there are many 98 degree days here in Seattle, but gloves in the summer, whether it’s hot or not, are a fashion giveaway.  Some clairvoyants wear flesh colored cloth to avoid being so obvious, but I’ve never been the type to hide what I am.  I don’t flaunt it, but I’m not going to keep to the shadows either.  Don’t get me wrong, if I could shed the gloves, I would.  Wearing them all the time gets really old, trust me.  But if I don’t want to end up in a clean-room, I have to wear them.  The thin stretch of fabric is what keeps me from experiencing all the memories lurking within whatever I happen to touch.

At the moment, however, my long, black gloves were lying on a table next to my water bottle in an interrogation room at the Chiliquitham Police Department.  I sat across from Vince Vanelli, a hard-faced detective with a body to match, who had a chip on his shoulder large enough to house an entire family of woodchucks.

Detective Vanelli glared at me.  “Something funny?”

I decided not to tell him about the woodchucks.  Just a guess, but I was betting he wouldn’t find that visual particularly amusing.

I shook my head and lied.  “Nothing.  I was just thinking about a friend of mine.  So are we going to get down to business soon?  I have another appointment at eleven.”  It was an effort to keep my tone polite, since the detective had been nothing but unfriendly ever since we sat down.

He gave me a cold glare and it was probably worth a squirm or two, but I was accustomed to receiving unfriendly stares.  It didn’t faze me, and since I stubbornly refused to flinch, I stared back and gave him the once over.  The detective's eyes had been continually narrowed from the first moment we met, but I now saw that they were brown and probably strikingly large when he wasn't pissed off.  The Italian roots his name implied were done proud.  Although his skin didn't wander far into the Mediterranean olive tones, it was obvious that he was more likely to tan than burn from the sun.  He had a strong jaw that was counterbalanced by slender, dark eyebrows, and his thick, dark brown hair was cut in a mid-length, slightly tousled style.  When they weren't pressed together in an expression of annoyance, his lips were full and well defined.  If not for the detective's rude demeanor and sourpuss face, I'd have said he was attractive.

“Lieutenant Jensen will be here in a few minutes.”

“Okaaay.”  I leaned back as best I could in the straight-backed metal chair and carefully placed my hands in my lap.  The last thing I wanted to do was touch the interrogation table.  It was bound to have some seriously bad vibes that I didn’t need floating around in my head.  I could put my gloves back on, but I didn’t want to waste the effort.  I was hoping this other officer was coming soon to spare me any more stunning discussion with Ace Detective Vince Vanelli.

After a few more minutes of excruciating silence and blank stares from Vanelli, I surrendered to my curiosity and, more importantly, impulsive desire to yank his chain.  “So, you guys called my agency, but it wasn’t your idea, was it?”  This wasn’t much of a guess.  The detective had been about as welcoming as a rattlesnake doormat.

His gaze sharpened.  “Why do you say that?”

Because you're acting like a complete jerk, I said silently before responding in a more tactful manner. “Oh, nothing paranormal.  It’s just that you haven’t said boo about the case yet.  So, it has me thinking that you’re either really shy, or maybe you don’t want to share information about the case with someone like me.”

“There’s no maybe about it.  Asking you here was definitely not my idea.”  He looked away and muttered, “We don’t need any magical mumbo jumbo to help us solve this case.  Intellect and shoe leather will get us what we need.  And we won’t have any worries about whether the evidence is admissible.”  He glared back at me.  “So, you’re right.  This was not my idea.”

Intellect and shoe leather?  Please.

I took perverse pleasure in revealing the detective’s bigotry, although it was hardly surprising.  His behavior wasn’t anything I hadn’t encountered on countless occasions and, honestly, didn’t upset me that much.  Actually, it was kind of entertaining.

My mission accomplished, I gave him a poised, relaxed smile.  “Ah, I see.  Well, thank you for your candor, Detective.  Actually, I’m accustomed to working with officers who have opinions like yours, and it really doesn’t bother me.  I’ve dealt with it all my life, so I’m pretty used to it.”  My smile brightened as I deliberately rattled him further.  “It also makes it easier to gloat later when I help you solve the case.”

This wasn’t an idle boast.  I had an excellent track record with several police agencies.  My name was fairly well known, and the FBI had called me in more than once.  Okay, so they called only when the case had grown cold, but, hey, they had called me two times already.  I was on a roll.

Detective Vanelli’s jaw tightened, but I was spared any further comments by the arrival of a tall, beefy man in a brown suit.  He was large, in a linebacker sort of way; a fair amount of muscle to go with his over-indulgences, but I guessed that his days of pursuing a six-minute mile were long gone.  His neatly trimmed beard was peppered with grey and it stood in contrast to the wavy, unkempt style of his hair.  It was interesting that, although his beard showed some age, his thick head of brown hair did not.  Despite the beard, I put his age at thirty-five, maybe forty.  His tie was loose and slightly askew, and he gave me an open smile that told me we were going to get along just fine.  I was sure this was the person who requested my expertise.

I stood up, but folded my hands loosely across my abdomen.  I returned his smile with a bright one of my own, so he didn’t misinterpret my stance.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Ms. Devon.  Never enough hours in the day.”  He withdrew his hand when he realized I wasn’t going to shake it.  “I’m Lieutenant Jensen.  Did you meet Detective Sergeant Vanelli?”

I nodded.  “Yes, I did.  Please, call me Lire.”  I wiggled my hands so he could see I wasn’t wearing my gloves.  “Sorry.  I didn’t realize that someone else was coming.  I was all set to handle whatever it is you guys want me to read.”

Actually, most clairvoyants made a habit of never shaking hands, even with gloves, but I didn't bother pointing this out.  The fact was bound to draw further attention to my 'otherness' and make them additionally nervous about dealing with me.

“Don’t worry about it.  Besides, I bet it’s nice to take those things off every once in a while, eh?”  Lieutenant Jensen rounded the table and took the seat next to Detective Vanelli.

Either Jensen was unusually perceptive or knew someone who had similar problems.  “Most people don’t think about that.  Maybe you know someone who's touch sensitive?”

He nodded and his smile faded.  “My sister’s kid.  It’s been tough for them.”  The pain was apparent on his face.  I’d say that ‘tough’ was an understatement.  If it was anything like my experience, then they were going through hell.

“Most of us have very similar experiences, especially if no one else in the family is a practitioner.  Have they hooked up with a support group?  Getting with people who have been through it can do wonders.”  When I glanced at Vanelli, he was looking at me curiously, but covered it quickly with his cool stare.

“Yeah, they live over in Tacoma.  I think they hooked up with the, uh, what’s it called?” Jensen narrowed his eyes to slits and poked the side of his head with his finger.  “The Paranormal Help Network, I think.”

“Oh, that’s great.  The PHN is a good group.  I speak there occasionally.  That should help a bunch.  Things are so much better than they used to be.  When I was growing up, there were pretty much just two options:  paranormal boarding school or the reservations.  There wasn’t any support for the parents who wanted to keep their gifted child at home.”

I ended up with the boarding school.  Of the two choices that was definitely the better.  There was no third choice.  My Mom couldn’t handle it.  To a certain extent, I guess I can’t blame her too much.  Nothing will brighten up your day like realizing that your child knows all your dark secrets, just from holding your hand at the park.  At three and a half, I had to come to terms with the fact that both of my parents were scared shitless of me.  Needless to say, I didn’t have a very happy childhood.  When I was five, my parents packed me off to a boarding school northeast of Seattle.  Actually, I was really fortunate that my parents were wealthy enough to send me to a private school.  I understand that the paranormal reservations are not the nicest of places to live, much less grow up.  All things considered, I was much better off being raised in the confines of Coventry Academy, by teachers who at least had a clue about dealing with children with magical abilities.

“So, Detective Vanelli was just getting ready to tell me about what you guys need me to look at today.”  Amazingly, I was able to keep a pleasant, professional expression on my face.

“Uh-huh.”  I don’t think Jensen was fooled.  “What we’ve got is a shirt from a murder victim.”

In response to Jensen's statement, Vanelli pulled out a package that must have been resting in his lap and then slid it down the table to Jensen.

“Boy.  You guys don’t ask for much, do you?”  I wasn’t expecting to do anything quite so serious with the limited time allotted by the last minute appointment.  My upcoming clients were likely to require much of my energy.

“If you can’t handle it, let’s just move on and stop wasting each other’s time.”  Vanelli regarded me with angry, narrowed eyes.  He was really starting to get on my nerves.

“Please.  I never said I couldn’t do it.”  I sighed and directed my explanation to Jensen.  “Because the appointment was made last minute, it’s not a full session.  I assumed that you guys knew what that meant.”

Most people assume that clothing is easy to read because it has intimate contact with a person.  But, for that very reason, reading an object that is so psychically charged can be extremely challenging, especially if the person experienced something emotionally disturbing.  It’s easy to become overwhelmed by the memories.  Only an experienced clairvoyant can control the inputs and separate out the important details.  It also requires a lot of physical stamina.

Jensen gave me a puzzled look and Vanelli regarded me with a smug expression.

“More excuses.  I think we're finished here.”  Vanelli stood up to leave.

“Hang on, Vanelli.”  Jensen looked tired.

Vanelli stopped, but he didn’t retake his seat.  He just crossed his arms and made a point of looking down at me with an annoyed expression.

I know it was partially my fault that Vanelli was getting in my face, but it still pissed me off.  Their lack of knowledge made me appear weak, and my professional reputation was important to me.  I guessed that whoever set up the appointment didn’t fax the detectives my background sheet, which specifies what to expect from me and how much time is needed for the different types of readings.  When I got back to the office, I was going to have some serious words with Monica—not that it would do any good.  We all knew why she remained employed, and it had nothing to do with her dispatching skills.

Jensen leaned forward.  “Ms. Devon, time is critical.  I appealed to your partner for an emergency appointment because we have a fresh crime scene.  I want an opinion from an expert such as yourself before we pack it in.”

Okay, plan B:  Monica was off the hook; it was time to rumble with Jack.

“Okay.  Jack neglected to inform me of the situation, and I guess he didn’t fax you my background sheet.”  I sighed. “Let’s go ahead and we’ll see what happens.  Hopefully I won't pass out.”

Jensen looked concerned.  “We can possibly do this a bit later in the afternoon.  Will that help?”  He glanced over at Vanelli, but only got an answering ‘I told you so’ look that I personally wanted to scrape off Vanelli’s face with a blowtorch.

I chuckled.  “Don’t worry.  I'm sure it will be fine.  Open the bag and dump the shirt in front of me.  Let’s see what we’ve got.”  I scooted myself toward the table, no small feat considering I had to do it without touching the chair with my hands.  Kudos for me, I managed to get comfortable without falling on my face.

Vanelli retook his seat as Jensen poured the shirt from the bag.  It landed in a soft, purple heap in front of me.  The fabric was silk, or maybe that new synthetic stuff, I forget what they call it, but it looks and feels just like the real thing.  I guessed that it was a women’s blouse.  From the color and the size of the pile, I didn’t think it belonged to a man.  There were several stains on the fabric and I avoided thinking too closely about them.

Apparently I was taking too long for Vanelli’s taste.  “Is there a problem?”

I shot him a scathing look and wished my magic extended to curses.  I would have given anything to send a couple hundred boils his way.

I purposely directed my conversation to Jensen, since he was the only supportive person in the room.  “Lieutenant Jensen, when I touch the blouse, please keep things as quiet as possible.  With fewer distractions, I’ll have more focus and won’t have to expend as much energy.  It’d be nice if I can make it to my next client without keeling over.”

I winked at him, and he chuckled before nodding and turning serious.  “Will do.  And, please, just call me Jensen.”

“Gotcha.  Jensen.  Thanks,” I said with a genuine smile.  When I glanced over at Detective Vanelli, he just continued to stare at me icily.  I turned away before my smile turned into something less friendly.

I looked at the blouse and then prepared myself for what I expected to be some serious emotional baggage and, most likely, at least one real traumatic, violent experience.  I’ve been asked, more times than I can count, to describe my power and what it feels like.  What do I do?  How does it work?  What do I experience?  My ability is frustratingly difficult to put into words; after all, it’s all in my head isn’t it?  So, I usually find myself resorting to clichés to explain it.

When I know I am going to be sensing something psychically charged, I first close off areas of my mind so I don’t take the full impact of the emotions associated with the object or person.  Most practitioners describe this process as building up a psychic shield.  Only when I’m ready, do I touch the object.  As the information pours into my mind, I use my shield to push it round and round until it forms a swirling disk; like a music CD.  Sorry, but that’s the best analogy I can think of to describe what I do.  Once everything is swirling in my mind, I am free to examine it more closely.  The feelings at the outside edge of the disk are the most recent.

I decided not to go directly to the most recent emotions at the outer edge.  I wasn’t ready for it yet.  I had to work up to it.  Feeling the emotions and thoughts of a victim of a violent crime is beyond horrific.  I use my shield to distance myself from it; sort of like sensing the emotions through a soft filter.  I also keep telling myself that catching the bad guy before other people suffer is worth the trauma.  It takes a certain type of clairvoyant to keep working with the police and most aren't willing to perform these types of readings.  Guess that makes me a glutton for punishment.

It took a minute to assimilate all the memories that flooded my mind after touching the blouse.  When I finished creating the swirling disk, I surveyed the result.  I immediately detected several fouled streams, the most corrupted of which was at the outside edge.  A fuzzy tail, at the very end of the disk, told me that another psychic had previously read the blouse.  If I examined the tail closely, I could probably determine which clairvoyant had read the blouse before me.  There aren’t many of us who work with the police and most aren’t powerful enough to hide their identities.  Fortunately, my shield is strong enough that I rarely leave a mark behind.

I stopped procrastinating and lowered myself into the stream just prior to the most fouled section.  I decided to keep myself fairly shielded, even though it meant getting a pretty choppy view of things.  I could always get more details later.

I feel anxious, self-conscious and depressed.  I smell wetness, feel mist on my face.  I’m walking down a dark street.  A forest looms next to the road.  Work sucks.  Pizza.  Justin’s Pizza.  I’m so angry.  Eric said he was going to pick me up.  The road is dark.  The forest is darker.  I shouldn’t be walking home alone.  It’s late.  I pass an abandoned farmhouse.  What am I going to do about Eric?  I should dump him.  He’s a jerk, but I don’t want to be alone.  I probably can’t get any better anyway.  The other day he called me a whore in front of everyone.  Oooh!  That made me so mad!  I should have broken up with him right then.  I am such an idiot.  Hey, what was that?  I scream.  Oh that jerk!  It’s Eric.  I see him running down the trail, laughing at me.

I didn’t bother experiencing the murder.  I already knew who the killer was.  I also knew the identity of the victim.  The blouse slid from my hands, where it landed softly on the table.

“So I guess my credentials weren’t enough to convince you that I’m legit?”  I looked accusingly at both detectives and then rubbed both of my hands over my face.  I was fatigued from controlling the energy stream and pretty darn annoyed with the two detectives.  If I wasn't so tired, I might havbeen tempted to storm out of the room.  I leaned back in my chair instead.  Chalk one up to professionalism.

“What do you mean?” Jensen asked innocently.  It struck me that Lieutenant Rich Jensen was really good at playing ‘good cop’.  Vanelli was a definite ringer for ‘bad cop’.  He didn’t even have to act.

“Come on!  Give me some credit.  Lieutenant.  This blouse belonged to Jessica Levin and you know it.  A couple years ago, her boyfriend, Eric Parks, murdered her.  It was in all the papers for months.  Somehow, I don’t think this is the case you guys need help with.”  I crossed my arms and glared at him.  I immediately felt bad about sounding so annoyed, but also justified.

Jensen cleared his throat.  “No.  It isn’t.”

I was all set to chew him a new one when I saw the expression on his face—grim determination and, now, a bit of hope.

Jensen pushed the blouse back into the bag with the end of a pencil, careful not to touch it with his bare hands, and then sealed it.  “We were told that any clairvoyant who could deal with this, without much of a problem, might be able to help us.  You were one of the practitioners we were told to contact.”

“Really.”  My anger was fading, and I didn’t try to hold on to it.  “And who told you that?”

“One was Judith Kitchell.  Randy Peterson also suggested that we give you a call.  Judith was the expert we used on the Levin case.  After doing what you just did, she was unconscious for an hour.  The blouse has become a sort of benchmark, you might say.”  He leaned forward and put his elbows on the table.  “Look, I’m sorry we made you go through that, but we needed to be sure that you can handle the worst of what we might have you look at.”

My right eyebrow arched involuntarily.  “Okay, you’ve got my attention.  Judith and Randy are among the best in the business.  Are you telling me that they both turned you down for this case?”

There weren’t many things that would deter Judith.  She owned Which Witch, the talent agency that rivaled Supernatural Talent and Company, where I worked.  Randy ran the psi-ward down at Coventry Hospital.  They were both exceptional clairvoyants and tough.  I guess you had to be tough, just to survive on the outside.  Sooner or later a majority of clairvoyants end up in a clean-room at one of the federal psi-hospitals; most never leave.  There aren’t many of us who are willing to work with the public, much less the police.  Because of that, Judith and I often referred clients to one another.

“We need your help.  So far you are the only one who has come close.”  Jensen didn’t answer my question about Judith and Randy, so I took it as a yes.  They both had turned him down.  Now I was really intrigued.

“Okay, fine.  But can we please just get down to it?”  I was getting tired of the games, or maybe I was feeling worn-out from my psi-expenditure.  Either way, I just wanted to cut to the chase.

Jensen sat back in his chair, trying not to look triumphant, and nodded at Vanelli.

Vanelli found his professional voice.  It was deep and confident, without a trace of hostility.  “Later today, we’d like you to take a look at our newest site.  These are the photos of the first crime scene.”

He waited patiently while I put my gloves back on and then handed me a file folder.  I wanted to ask, “What kind of crime scene?” but I didn’t want to give Vanelli further ammunition.  Never show weakness to your enemies.  I’m pretty sure it’s a rule somewhere.  I wasn’t sure if Vanelli was the enemy, but I was being cautous.

I prepared myself for the worst and opened the folder.  The first photo was taken several yards away from the crime scene, which had been cordoned off by yellow ‘DO NOT CROSS’ tape.  Since I didn’t see any carnage, I slowly let out the breath I was holding and silently told the butterflies to take five.

In the photo, crime tape was wrapped around the trunks of the large, evergreen trees that were visible.  The location looked heavily forested, but the photo centered on a large patch that was unnaturally devoid of vegetation.  The dirt area looked to be circular in fashion and fairly large, judging by the size of the surrounding spruces.  At the center of the dirt area was what could have been mistaken for a pile of driftwood.  Since this was a crime scene, and there were no sunbathers or seashells that I could see, I was betting that it wasn’t driftwood.

I placed the photo, face down, on the table in front of me.  The next one was taken from within the circle of police tape.  From the closer vantage, it was clear that the pile of objects in the center of the dirt patch was not a stack of wood; it was human bones.  The skull was perched precariously on top and faced obliquely to the camera.  For some reason, I found the way the skull lolled to one side particularly disturbing.  I also noticed one—no, make that two—small, green, circular spots, inside the perimeter, where the dirt met the lush green surroundings.  The small patches were spaced a fair distance apart.  It was not clear whether these spots continued around the entire circumference because less than half of the large dirt area was visible in the photo.  I put the photo on top of the earlier one.

The third photo was a close up of the green spots that I noticed in the previous photo.  A ruler was placed through the center of the grass, which showed that the patch was nearly four inches in diameter.  The circle of flattened grass stood in sharp contrast to the brown powdery looking soil that comprised ground zero.  Easy cliché, that.  The large dirt area looked as though a blast, centering on the bones, cremated everything around it.  Outside of the blast area, the ground was covered with clumps of lush grass, wet leaves and mossy twigs.  Inside, there seemed to be nothing except the bones and the small, circular patches of grass at the outer edge.  A sense of dread began to percolate in the pit of my stomach.

I flipped quickly through five or six more photos, noticing nothing new, until I came to one showing a circular patch of unaffected vegetation that was inside the blast zone.  Unlike the other grassy spots, which were at the very edge of the blast circle, this one looked like it was larger and further inside.  There was no ruler to show the size of the circle, but in the background of the photo, two of the smaller circles were visible in the distance.  I could only guess at the size of this larger circle—perhaps three feet in diameter?

After viewing the rest of the photos, I picked them up, tapped their edges on the table to straighten the stack and put them back in the file folder.  During my study session, the boys had been very quiet, interrupting me only once to ask if I wanted coffee.  I’d mainline coffee if I could, but I was pretty sure the Chiliquitham PD didn’t use psi-free beans, so I had to pass.  I sipped from my water bottle instead, but it was a poor substitute.

Jensen took the file folder from me.  “So, what can you tell us?  I know it’s not the same as being there, but I’d appreciate hearing your opinion anyway.”

Both Jensen and Vanelli were back in their seats and had some form of notepad on the table in front of them.  Jensen held a mechanical pencil at the ready, while Vanelli’s brushed stainless steel pen was on top of his smaltebook.

I put both of my glove-encased elbows on the table and folded my arms.  My expression was grim.  “I have a couple of questions first if you don’t mind.”  Jensen nodded, so I continued, “You said these were from the first crime scene.  How does the newest crime scene compare with this one?”  This didn’t really have anything to do with my assessment of the photos, but I was curious.

“Almost identical.  Different locations, of course, but the MO is the same,” Jensen answered.

“Ah.  And the small green patches around the edge of the blast zone…are there five of them?”  My stomach clenched.  The scenario that I was dreading hinged on this question.

Jensen's left eyebrow went up.  “Yes.”

I closed my eyes briefly and sighed.  “And the new site has the same configuration—a roughly circular dirt area with the small circles around the perimeter?”  I looked first at Jensen and then at Vanelli.  They both nodded positively.

“I didn’t see a photo that showed a ruler next to the larger grass circle.  How big was it?”

Jensen looked slightly puzzled.  “We must be missing a shot.  I’ll check into it.”  He glanced briefly at Vanelli for confirmation.  “I’d say the larger one was about five feet wide, give or take.”

Vanelli nodded in agreement.  “Yeah.”

My lips compressed into a tense line, and I regarded the two men steadily.  If my theory was correct, then the detectives were in way over their heads.  It was imperative that they get further expert advice, but I had a sinking feeling that wasn’t going to happen willingly.

“Have you called a witch or warlock to the site yet?”

Vanelli muttered something unintelligible under his breath.  Since it sounded rude, I figured the answer was no.

“I assume that translates to no?”

Jensen explained, “After investigating the first site, it was ruled an accidental death.  Now that we have a second, nearly identical scene, it seemed prudent to call in someone like you.”

“So the original theory was…what?  Spell backfires and nukes the mage?”

“Yes.”  Jensen looked a bit sheepish.  “There were only tracks leading toward the scene and none leading out.  At the time, it seemed pretty clear cut that a magic user had lost control of a spell and suffered the consequences.”

I didn’t criticize.  In his shoes, with limited knowledge of magic, I might have guessed the same thing.  “Well, you’ll want to have a witch or warlock examine the newest site, preferably one who has knowledge of the dark arts.”  I was betting this would go over about as well as a stripper at a church social, but I plunged ahead anyway.  “If you don’t have a contact, I can arrange something for you.”

Vanelli stared at me like I had thrown up pea soup and my head was doing 360s.  “We’re not putting any devil worshipers on the payroll.”

“Lire, I have to agree with Vanelli.  There’s not much chance of convincing this department to hire a black magician, even if I wanted to, and I don’t.  It was already an uphill battle bringing you in.”

I sighed loudly.  “Even though someone is familiar with the dark arts, it doesn’t mean that they’re a devil worshiper.”  The explanation was useless, but I felt obligated to battle ignorance whenever I came across it.  I'm sure my eyes flashed hotly, mostly at Vanelli, but his magi-phobia really rubbed me the wrong way.  “You do understand there is a difference, right?  The dark arts encompass a field of magic that deals with death and darkness, not the devil.  A devil worshiper can be a magic user or a normal.  The point is anyone can be in the devil’s employ.  Just because someone practices black magic, it doesn’t necessarily mean they’re a devil worshiper.  They are two different things completely.”

I held up my hand before either of them could respond.  “I know.  It doesn’t change things, but magic stereotyping and hysteria really gets on my nerves.  That’s the type of thing that led to the Salem witch trials.”

Jensen looked at Vanelli briefly and received a set of raised eyebrows in return.  The hired help was getting uppity.

“Why should a witch look at the scene?” Jensen asked.

“Because a witch may be able to sense the type of spell that was used.”

“And you can’t?”

“No.  I'm a psychic, not a spell caster.  We all have magic, but it's not exactly used in the same way.”  I shook my head and waved them off.  Getting into a huge discussion about why psychics were different than spell casters was just going to cause more confusion, so I switched tack.  “Look, I can tell you whether I sense magic, but I won’t be able to tell you exactly what flavor.  In my opinion, it seems to me that this is a case of human sacrifice.  What the perpetrator needed the power for, I don’t know.  A witch might be able to tell you.”

“Why do you think this was a human sacrifice?” Vanelli asked.  He had taken up his pen and had jotted a few notes, now that I was getting down to some specifics.

“Because I’m pretty sure the large dirt circle was a circle of power.  A circle of power is used for one of two reasons:  to keep power or magic from escaping, or to prevent magic from entering, or both.  Okay, make that three reasons.”  I smiled slightly and then shrugged.  “In the photos, the circle of power looked to be quite large and was delineated by runes, which were placed in the form of a pentagram.  The runes are what physically protected the smaller patches of grass around the edge of the dirt enclosure.  The warlock then placed another circle inside the main one that he may have used to summon a demon or other magical creature.  Or I suppose he may have used it to protect himself.”

Vanelli continued to probe.  “That’s what the larger green patch was, another circle of power?”

“Yes.”

“Why would he or she summon a demon?” Jensen asked as he glanced up from his notepad.

“In this case, I'm not sure.  A creature is summoned when the conjurer needs something that it can provide—typically power or knowledge or both.”

Jensen continued, “Could the creature have escaped and killed the magician?”

“That’s always a risk when a mage summons a demon, but I don’t think that’s what happened in this case.  We know that the smaller circle of power was in force when the final spell culminated because the vegetation inside of it wasn't destroyed.”

“And because someone picked up the runes and carried them away,” Vanelli observed.  “Although, an accomplice could have been waiting outside the main circle and remain unaffected?”

I nodded.  “Yes.  All the magic was confined to the main circle.”

Jensen asked, “Do most magicians use runes?”

“Magician is a name for someone who does parlor tricks.  A magus is someone who practices magic.”  Shrugging, I answered his question, “No, only witches and warlocks use runes.  You know the difference between witchcraft and sorcery, right?”  I regarded the detectives and considered their confused expressions.  “Um, okay, let me explain. A witch or warlock is a magus who can only employ spoken or chanted magic and they often use runes to power or strengthen their spells.”  I paused to make sure they were absorbing the information.  They both nodded, so I continued,  “A sorcerer or sorceress, on the other hand, doesn’t use spoken words of power to cast a spell.  They use gestures.  Runes are of no use to them.”

Jensen paused briefly, in thought.  “Interesting.  So a witch has to use words and a sorceress uses gestures.”  Like most people, he had used the terms witch and sorceress interchangeably and assumed they were the same because they both practiced magic.

“Correct.  A sorceress doesn’t need to speak to cast a spell.  A sorceress is more powerful than a witch in that regard, but they are restricted to a specific field of magic.  You’ve heard of necromancers, haven’t you?  Well, a necromancer is a sorcerer who has power over the dead.  They are very powerful, but can’t practice other forms of magic…say, like conjuring fire or turning a boulder into a pile of pebbles.  There are many types of sorcerers—sorcerers with power over light, earth, wind, fire, just about anything you can think of—and most of the time they have skill in just one area of magic.”

Vanelli put his left elbow on the table and regarded me closely.  “Let me get this straight.  You think that a witch or warlock set up the circle of power, the second pentagram, possibly called up a demon and murdered the victim, all to gain power for a spell that blasted the entire circle flat?”

I nodded.  “From just viewing the photos, yeah, that’s what I think.”  I wasn’t able to suppress a shudder.  “The mage who did this is beyond redemption.  They’re bad.  Bad, bad, bad.”  I rubbed my right hand across my mouth and chin as though the action would wipe away the need to describe this horrific act.  “This person cares nothing for human life, much less the threefold principle.  And to work with a demon in this way…”  I shook my head.

Jensen cocked his head to the side.  “The threefold principle?”

“It’s a widely held belief among magic users and those close to the magic community.  It basically means that whatever you do will come back to you threefold.  You reap what you sow.”

“Ah.”  Jensen nodded.

“Okay, so back to the crime scene,” Vanelli said, motioning with his pen absently.  “If the magic user didn’t use the second circle for protection and used it for a demon instead, how did he or she survive the blast?  It destroyed every trace of organic matter inside the circle and presumably cleaned the bones like they’d been sitting there for years.”

There was a slight chance that Vanelli was starting to impress me.  Even though he was a bigoted, magi-phobic S. O. B., he was paying attention and seemed to be treating the case as though there wasn’t anything strange about a magical serial killer, who was sacrificing victims for a power boost.  In fact, he hadn’t said anything inflammatory for, oh, five or ten minutes, easy.

I answered Vanelli honestly, “I don’t know.  Quite possibly it has something to do with the type of spell he used.”

“You’re not a witch, how do you know this is the likely scenario?”

I felt my brows draw down into a frown and paused to regard him before answering.  “Detective Vanelli, are you familiar with Coventry Academy?”  When I received an answering nod, I continued while trying hard not to sound snippy.  “Well, that’s where I grew up.  From the age of five, I spent all of my school years there, all the way through high school.  Most of my friends growing up were witches, sorcerers, cursed, or psychically inclined.  And, for the past seven years, I have co-owned a paranormal talent agency, where everyone, except my partner and receptionist, has some sort of magical ability.”

“Is that all?” he retorted.

I was all set to say something scathing when I suddenly realized that Vanelli was teasing me.  Okay, so maybe I didn’t have him figured out.  I sat with my mouth hanging open and nothing to say came to mind.  Somehow I managed to close my mouth before I drooled on my shirt.  The day was looking up.

I sighed and made an open palmed gesture.  “Look, I don’t know all there is to know about magic—far from it.  But, I know quite a bit, and everything I know says that this is a case of human sacrifice.  To get as much information as possible, I strongly recommend that you seek the opinion of a witch or warlock.”

“Ms. Devon, I know you’re not a witch, but you do have a useful gift that might help us.  I’d like you to take a look at our new crime scene later today.  I realize you have an appointment coming up, but are you available afterward?” Jensen asked.

I knew he was in a difficult position, so I couldn’t very well say no.  “I’m pretty booked up, but I can probably shift some things around.”  I retrieved my cellular telephone from my purse and checked the calendar.  “I think I can free up a couple of hours after one o’clock.”

“Fair enough.  Vince will take you to the scene.”

Oh, wonderful.  Lucky me.  I tried not to sigh out loud.

Jensen stood up, and then Vanelli and I followed suit.  “If you happen to have a friend with you, maybe a trainee or something, I guess they’d have to tag along.”

I must have looked a bit puzzled because Jensen gave me a quick wink.  Vanelli just stared at me like he’d seen it all before and the second time around was just as boring.  If he disagreed with Jensen's ploy, it wasn’t apparent from the look on his face.  Now the question was:  Who could I get to come with me at such short notice?

Vanelli and I made arrangements for him to meet me at Sotheby’s at one o’clock, and I left the station feeling the suspicious stares of everyone I passed press into my back.  My instincts screamed at me to draw in my head like a turtle and slink my way out of the building, but I sternly reminded myself that I was not a freak.  I was a good, decent person with an unusual gift.  Instead of lowering my head in shame, I forced myself to smile pleasantly, make eye contact with everyone nearby and strut like a runway model out the front door, but it sure wasn’t easy.

Once I had folded myself into my car and enveloped myself in black upholstery, tinted windows and high-tech gadgetry, I slumped down and took what I told myself was a deep cleansing breath, not a sigh of dejection.  Before I could revel any further in my self-pity, movement from the passenger seat caught my eye, and a muffled voice echoed from inside my ridiculously priced, designer shoulder bag.

“Why do you persist in dealing with these stake-burners anyway?”  The voice was deep, a surprise considering that its source was a six-inch, black teddy bear, and it resonated with an unusual accent and cadence that I always found comforting.

His fuzzy head popped out of the top of my open handbag, followed, with some difficulty, by the rest of his adequately stuffed body.  I moved my arm automatically, so he could perch on the center console armrest.

I gave han exasperated look as I started the car’s engine to get some air circulating, and then folded down the sun visor to regard my partial reflection in the small, rectangular mirror on the back.  There weren’t any improvements over my slap-dash makeup application from earlier in the morning, but I spied a fine, dark red eyelash that had fallen onto the bridge of my freckled nose.  I wiped it gently away before regarding my green eyes with a sigh.

“Red, do you have to ask me that every time I meet up with a psi-challenged police officer?”  I snapped shut the mirror’s cover and gazed at my familiar friend.

“Of course I do.”  He sat, with his cute teddy bear legs hanging over the edge of the armrest, gently dangling them back and forth.  I tried not to find the action endearing, but failed miserably.

“Why?” I asked while looking around the parking lot to make sure I was unobserved.  Conversing with Red was hardly extraordinary—Red had been my companion since childhood—but anyone seeing me talk to a teddy bear was likely to come up with a different conclusion entirely.

“Because I have yet to hear a sufficient answer.”

I closed my eyes and lamented, “I know.  What can I say?  I’m a sucker.  I’m a glutton for punishment.”

When Red didn’t immediately respond, I opened my eyes and gazed down at him.  “That wasn’t a sufficient answer, was it?”

Red regarded me with his black button eyes, head tilted, legs swinging.  “No.  It wasn’t.”

I threw my hands down into my lap.  “Oh, I don’t know, Red.  I guess I just want to help people.  I want to turn this curse of mine into something positive, besides cash flow.  I have more money than I know what to do with, especially with what my Dad left me, and it has made my life more comfortable to live on the outside, but there’s got to be more that I was set on this earth to do.  Helping the police is something worthwhile, and, in the meantime, it exposes people to my gift, hopefully showing them that it’s not something to be feared.”

“You realize that you called your magic both a curse and a gift, in almost the same breath?”

“What can I say?  I’m conflicted.”

“That much is certain,” he told me.

“You’re not making me feel any better.”

“That can be easily remedied.”

Red slid from the edge of the armrest to the center console, deftly skirting the gear-shift, and then pressed a button to select a CD from the disk changer.  Suddenly we were bathed in a thumping, pulsing, riot of backbeat and harmony that had my fingers tapping and head bopping all the way to downtown Seattle.

When we were most of the way there, I turned down the volume and asked Red what he thought about the Chiliquitham murder.

“I didn’t see the photos, so I really cannot say.  However, from what I heard, your theory sounds plausible.”

“If I take you to the site, can you tell me what spells were used?” I asked.

“Perhaps.  It’s been a long time since I’ve been in the presence of high magic.”

Long before Red became my companion, he lived a human life as an outcast necromancer in seventeenth century America.  During the summer of 1692, he had the misfortune to pass through the small town of Danvers.  It was unfortunate because he arrived in a town that was deep in the irrational grip of witchcraft hysteria.  Danvers, you see, is located not far from the more memorable town of Salem, Massachusetts.  The Puritans, who were in the majori back then, were not exactly known for their tolerance.  Of course, at that time, most people believed that witchcraft and being in league with the devil were synonymous, so I guess they weren’t alone in their convictions.  They were just a bit more rabid than most—you know, just accused and imprisoned hundreds and then killed more than nineteen of their innocent friends and neighbors, but who’s counting?

Red was arrested, tried and condemned within a week.  Since he was a transient, with no local family to vouch for him, his sentence was carried out in record time.  He ordered a good friend to keep his fiancée away from the trial, fearing for her safety if she was associated with him.  Anyone coming forward to defend his character ran the risk of exposing themselves to the scrutiny of the Court of Oyer and Terminer and the other townsfolk caught up in the madness, so he wasn’t surprised that no one showed up at his trial.  On August 19th, 1692, Red was hung to his death on Gallows Hill.  Ironically, he was quite likely the only true magic user executed during that so called 'witch hunt'.

Shortly before his hanging, Red’s fiancée Rebecca begged a fellow necromancer to help launch a rescue, but instead of freeing him, the sorcerer used a spell to capture Red’s soul.  Although it wasn’t what Red had in mind, he allowed his soul to be captured and, unfortunately, condemned himself to an eternity of uncertainty and servitude.  The teddy bear was only the latest vessel housing his soul and might not be the last.

Although his skills in sorcery were lost when he died, Red is still able to detect magic.  He is also enchanted with several other spells, as long as he inhabits the bear and serves as my familiar.

On my mental list of experts, Red was the most qualified, and I wasn’t likely to get any of the others to accompany me to the crime scene on such short notice.

“You’re just being humble.  Anyway, Jake is the only one I could call on such short notice, and he’s on vacation this week.  Besides, I’d rather owe you a favor than Jake.”  Jake frequently pestered me to read items that belonged to his girlfriend of the week.  God knows what he wanted to know.  I always refused to do it.  That’s all I needed, intimate knowledge of Jake and his girlfriend.  No thanks!

I considered Red's past.  “Do you mind too much?  I know you’re not terribly enamored of the police.”

Three hundred years had mellowed his hatred, but Red had little good to say about public servants and the judicial system.  It bothered him greatly that I spent time helping them, and I suddenly realized that one of the reasons why I aided the police was out of spite.  Spite for what happened to Red.  A small part of me wanted nothing more than to rub their noses in my power, to show them that I was better because of it and to make them feel inadequate.  However, I knew, deep down, that this wasn’t the key to easing the past, or fixing the present.  Fortunately, I had other more noble reasons for aiding the police, and they had nothing to do with personal retribution and everything to do with getting the bad guys.

Red leaned to the side and looked at me.  “I will help you not because I think the police deserve my help, but because this warlock must be stopped.  A crime like this could set us back three hundred years.”  He paused thoughtfully.  “I’m also curious to hear how you’re going to explain my expert credentials to Detective Vanelli.”

He wasn’t the only one.

CHAPTER TWO

We arrived at the Puget Pacific Towers twenty minutes early, so after telephoning Monica to adjust my arnoon schedule, I decided to walk over to Peabody’s Beans for a cappuccino fix.

My favorite coffee shop was owned and operated by Julie and Steven Peabody, who started their business before anyone else envisioned the popularity of psi-free products.  Their coffees, teas and treats (not to mention the paper cups, stir sticks, sugar, etc.) are prepared using ingredients that are untouched by humans, which means misfits like me don’t end up with disturbing visions with every bite or sip.  Fortunately for me, psi-free products appeal to more than just those people who are psychically sensitive, since there’s not nearly enough of us to keep a specialty business like Julie’s afloat.  Untouched products are all the rage with the health conscious crowd too.  Even regular folks like the idea.  Julie and Steve managed to get in at the ground floor, just before the psi-free craze took off.  Of course, it doesn’t hurt that their coffee is top notch.

Peabody’s Beans was across the street and a block down, in a brick fronted building with a hunter green, metal awning.  Ten-foot tinted windows ran the length of the first floor, with glass doors splitting the distance in half.  On the door marked ‘PUSH’, a bright orange sign advised me that the store was going to close early on Saturday.

As I pushed my way into the shop, two women, who had been deep in conversation on their way toward the doors, markedly stopped talking when they noticed me.  I did my best to ignore their startled and somewhat frantic expressions as they skirted to the side, taking the widest detour possible without running into tables.  The two well-dressed women were clearly heading toward the exit, but my appearance caused them to deviate from their intended path.  Their behavior was almost comical, but I kept my expression neutral.  It used to bother me deeply—all the startled and horrified expressions and the way people tended to treat me like a pariah—but, at some point years ago, I learned to ignore it.  Some days I was better at it than others.  I reminded myself for the millionth time that clairvoyants were a rare breed and the number of urban legends about us had filled several books.  Their behavior was understandable.  With so few of us around, most people didn’t have any real-life experiences with clairvoyants to provide any means to discredit all the erroneous and farfetched stories.  It was no wonder that so many people were scared of us.  Well, that’s what I told myself.  Often.

As I walked past the two startled women, I deeply inhaled the rich coffee smell and looked behind the counter for Julie.  Julie was one of my few normal friends.  We gradually grew to know each other because of my predilection for all things espresso, and now I considered her to be one of my best friends.  Julie isn’t magically gifted, but her younger brother is pyrokinetic.  I’m sure that’s why she is more in tune with my issues, and I know it was her connection to the paranormal community that gave her the idea for Peabody’s Beans.

The line wasn’t too long.  Three customers away from the counter, Julie noticed me and waved.  I smiled to myself when I noticed her hair.  Julie’s straight, long, brown tresses were tied up into a smooth ponytail that was positioned high on the top of her head.  The hair band was strategically covered by a section of braided hair.  Her pony slithered across her shoulders as she moved back and forth behind the counter.  The up-do made me think of the genie character from I Dream Of Jeannie, the old show from the 1960s, except Julie had brown hair instead of blonde.  There’s a cable station that runs all the old sitcoms, and I found the naiveté of that show particularly amusing.  Clearly, the person who created the sitcom had never met a djinn in person.  The Barbara Eden character was nothing like a true djinn, and I inrdly shuddered at the thought of a human marrying one.

I moved up in line, now only moments away from espresso goodness.  Julie and Steven maneuvered behind the bar like they were partners in a synchronized dance.  After years of running the store and pulling countless shots, they moved between the machines, refrigerators and pastry cases with ease.  I don’t think I’d ever seen them get in each other’s way.

Under her dark green apron, Julie was wearing a faded grey sleeveless shirt-dress that showed off her toned arms.  An orange shawl with beaded trim was cinched around her narrow waist, and I was betting that she was wearing her well-worn orange Keds.  Julie always looked comfortable and hip.  I couldn’t help but envy her free spirited nature and eccentric style.  She wasn’t afraid to try new things and always seemed to maintain a positive attitude about everything.

When I reached the front of the line, Julie made my usual and then gave Steven a signal that he was on his own for a bit.  Steven waved at me while I stuck my customary payment, which they always refused to accept, into the tip jar.  Julie quickly appeared at my side and we found a small, round table near the front window.  I removed my wool coat and hung it over the back of the chair before sitting.

“How’re things going lately?  You on your way to Sotheby's?” Julie asked as we sat down.

“Yep.  I’m a little early, so I thought I’d stop by.”

“Uh-huh.”  We both knew that I’d stop by, even if I were running late.  Coffee was my vice.

“I’m doing okay.  So what's up with you?  I like your hair, by the way.  Oh!  Hey, did your brother get the job?” I asked, suddenly remembering her brother’s interview.

“Oh!  I forgot to tell you.  Yes, he got it.  He found out a couple days ago.  He is so happy, and he told me to tell you thank you.  He thought your reference really cinched it.”

“Well, I don’t know about that.  It might have helped get him in the door, but they wouldn’t have hired him if he weren’t the right one for the job.  That is so great!”

A couple months ago, Julie’s brother, Tom, asked if I knew anyone at Coventry Academy who I could ask about available teaching positions.  I contacted Warren Kilgaran, the Assistant Dean.  Of course, I knew him as 'the Shadman' in high school, so named because he was a shadow sorcerer and expert in throwing veils, which came in handy when we were sneaking out after curfew.  Shad was a senior when I was a freshman.  He dated my best friend at the time, Sheri Richards.  They were married now and had two kids.

Julie narrowed her eyes.  “So you’re coming on Saturday, right?”

I swirled the remains of my cappuccino around in the cup and studied the tiny bubbles of foamed milk that clung to the sides.  “Maybe.”

“Are you kidding?  What else you going to do?  Give Red a bath?”

“Maybe.  He’s been looking pretty raggedy lately.”

“I heard that,” Red quipped from inside my purse.

“What does he do in there, anyway?”  Julie feigned peeking inside my purse and then gave me a you-need-to-get-a-life look.  “You’re going and that’s all there is to it.”

“Ugh, I don’t think I’m up for it, to be honest with you.”

“Lire, you need to get out.  This is the perfect party, you know more than half the people who are coming.  Who knows, maybe you’ll meet someone nice.”

“That would be a miracle and you know it.”  I dropped myd into the palms of my hands and moaned.  “It’s hopeless.  It’s better not to hope.  That way, I can go on with life and not be disappointed.  Don’t you think?”  I peeked at her from between my opened fingers.

“Not.  Sooo not!  You’re discouraged because of Glen.  Girl, don’t give him the satisfaction!  There are tons of guys out there who will jump at the chance to be with you.  I’m telling you!  Besides, it will be an excuse to doll up and let word get back to jerk-face about how awesome you look these days.  Everyone’s going to be so surprised at your new look.”

Two weeks ago, after nine months of being obsessed with getting lean and fit, I culminated my achievement by having a total makeover.  I’ll never forget the look on Julie’s face when I walked into the store after my cut, color, makeup and shopping spree.  My long, straight hair went from strawberry blonde to dark auburn red, and I almost caused my hairdresser to have a seizure when I asked him to hack half of it off.  The length went from the small of my back to just below my shoulder.  I’m proud to say that I hardly batted an eye or bit a nail during the process.

There’s nothing like getting dumped to motivate a girl to make some serious changes, although, even after two weeks, I was still startled by my reflection.  Actually, the red is natural and hasn’t been seen since I was thirteen.  When you’re going through puberty and striving to be Miss Popular, red is not the color of choice.  Not if you want to fit in.  Well, that’s how I felt when I was thirteen.  Now that I was thirty, I decided it was time to get real.  I was far from confident about the choice, but keeping up with the strawberry blonde was a chore.  Not worrying about my roots showing had its appeal.

“If you don’t come, I’m giving Theo your telephone number.”  This was getting serious.  Theo was the pock-faced, chain-smoking sleaze that worked at the liquor store down the street.  Every time I saw him, he tried to get me to touch him, saying that I’d see how good he was.

“Okay, okay!  Don’t get your thong undies in a bunch!  I’ll come.”  I mugged at her and she laughed before I looked down at my watch.  “I’ve got to go.  My appointment is at eleven.”

I grabbed my purse and coat and then started for the door.

Julie walked with me.  “So what does he do in there?” she whispered.

“He plays video games.  Sometimes he reads, or listens to his music.”

She shook her head in amazement and walked away.  “See you on Saturday if not sooner.”

I made it up to Sotheby’s on time and was temporarily frozen in my steps when I strode through the door.  Detective Vanelli was waiting in the lobby.  He sat, looking very relaxed, with his right leg crossed over his left knee, exposing black leather shoes and sleek black trouser socks.  The suit was silver grey, shirt midnight blue, tie geometric.  For a small town cop, Vanelli knew how to put together a halfway decent ensemble.  He wasn’t bad looking either.  Too bad he was such a pill.

I said hello to Mary, the receptionist, and asked her to tell Veronica that I was waiting.

I walked over to the detective and stopped in front of him, my arms folded across my stomach.  “Hello, Detective Vanelli.  Here a bit early, aren’t you?”

He reclined in the chair and bobbed his chin toward me in greeting.  “Call me Vince.”  He tossed the magazine he had been reading to the side and gave me an appraising look.  “I’m not busy right now, so I thought I’d take a look at you in action.”

Vince is it?  I couldnelp being suspicious.  “I’d have thought your test earlier this morning was enough.  You don’t strike me as a magic groupie, why the interest?”

He gave me a smug smile.  “Sue me, I’m curious.”

I felt my right eyebrow go up, involuntarily.  Curious, huh?  Yeah right.

A door opened to the right of the reception desk, and then Veronica Michaels stepped through in her two thousand dollar Chanel suit.  After all the years of working with her, I’ve never seen so much as a hair out of place.  She was tall, slim and Southern, with a drawl that made me think of mint juleps and Tennessee Williams.  Her skin was the color of dark brown sugar, and she was one of those lucky women who looked thirty-five, but was pushing fifty.  Of course, it might have been the two-carat diamond earrings she always wore.  I bet it was easy to look a dozen years younger with earrings like those.  The glare alone was enough to distract the eye from any unwanted wrinkles.  And they were cost effective.  Much cheaper than a face lift, with the added bonus of being the ultimate fashion statement.  I made a mental note to get the earrings well ahead of time, just to be totally prepared.

She looked at me and smiled.  “Good morning, Lire.  Lovely to see you.”  Veronica glanced at Vince, who had risen from his chair and taken position next to me.  A look of mild puzzlement briefly took control of her features, but she continued with asking me, “Are you ready to come on back?”

I nodded and gave her an affectionate smile.  “Morning, Veronica.  May I introduce Detective Sergeant Vince Vanelli?  Vince, this is Veronica Michaels.  She is the Acquisitions Director for Sotheby’s here in Seattle.”

Vince offered Veronica his hand.  “Nice to meet you, Ms. Michaels.”

“And you, Detective.  Please, call me Veronica.”  She shook his hand.

He nodded in a friendly manner and smiled.  “Vince, please.”

Veronica laughed.  “Fair enough, thank you.”

I was irritated by the way Vince seemed so amiable and good-natured when I knew full well he was a big jerk, but I kept my tone neutral.  “I'll be working with Vince after our session today.  He came by early, hoping to get a preview.  He's curious to see what I do for Sotheby’s.”

“Really.  Well good.  We have some interesting pieces today.  You’re in luck.  Come on back, let’s go take a look.”

Veronica and I chatted about this and that on the way to the conference room, and Vince trailed behind like a yo-yo, lagging behind when he spotted something interesting and then catching up again.  I’ve been known to do the same thing, on occasion.  It was hard not to.  The office was designed around dozens of display cases, which were strategically arranged along the route to the main conference room, and their contents were utterly distracting.

Inside the conference room, we turned our attention to the table.  While I circled around, I looked at the various items laid out.  There were probably some pieces of furniture too, but they were kept downstairs.

“How many are downstairs?” I asked.

“Nothing that can't wait until our next appointment.”

I glanced back toward the table.  “Okay.  Any of these getting more than the usual reading?”

Sometimes clients wanted a full accounting of the item, for sentimental reasons.  Or, occasionally a seller wanted to get top dollar by having a full reading, but this was risky because my time isn’t cheap and the extra effort doesn’t always pay off.  Sotheby’s generally dcouraged sellers from insisting on a full reading, unless there was reason to believe that the piece had a questionable past.  It never ceased to amaze me how a piece of sordid information about an item increased its value threefold, or more.  Murder was always the hands down favorite, followed by adultery, theft and financial ruin.

“Yes.  This one.”  Veronica pointed to a diamond ring.  “The owner seems to think it was once owned by Marie Antoinette.”  So much white showed when she rolled her eyes that it looked like she was going to pass out.

“Get that all the time, do you?” Vince asked.

“You wouldn’t believe it.  If it’s not Marie Antoinette, then it’s Empress Josephine.”  She shook her head in disgust.

I placed my purse and coat on a chair near the door.  “Okay, this isn't too bad.  The items in here will take forty-five minutes or so, I should think.”

Veronica placed a digital voice recorder, along with a notebook, on the table as I sat down to examine the first item.  I decided to start with the ring.  What can I say?  Veronica’s mention of Marie Antoinette had piqued my curiosity.

I pulled off my gloves and laid them in my lap while I glanced at Vince.  He was sitting comfortably at the end of the table, arms crossed loosely, looking very cool.  Veronica sat in the chair opposite mine and smiled knowingly.

“Couldn’t resist Marie Antoinette, now could you?”

I laughed.  She knew me too well.

After Veronica pressed record on the small, black device and announced the item's description, I began my routine.  With the ring clenched between both hands, I closed my eyes and coiled the ring’s energy around in my mind.  I savored its history like a sip of expensive wine, rolled it around and gauged its age.  It was fairly old.  Not the oldest thing I’ve ever felt, not by a long shot, but it clearly had history. There were dozens upon dozens of flavors, if you will, intertwined in the stream.  Many people had touched the ring.  Many more had touched the stone.  I probed the energy stream, starting at the center, the beginning, scanning for the high points.

Through the veil of energy…

I look down at my hands.  I have a mallet and a sharp tool.  My cleave is perfect, exactly where I want it.  I need to work quickly, without being careless.  The diamonds must be ready soon…

As usual, I spoke out loud while I probed through the psychic stream.  It made it easier, not having to remember all the details and trying to sum up my findings afterward.  I knew Veronica was making notes in her notepad and the device on the table digitally recorded my voice for later review.

“I found the stone cutter.  The stone was transported to Venice from Golconda, where it was discovered.  Giovanni Pertramo cut the raw diamond into several stones.  By the clothing styles I’d guess mid to late eighteenth century.  Oh, I’ve got it.  It’s 1770.  He is cutting the stones for a French jeweler and needs to get it done by the end of the week.”

I stopped talking and concentrated on the stream.  Several more people came into it.  The gem dealer, for one.  I told Veronica the name and kept moving.  It was necessary to proceed quickly, or I wouldn't make it through the rest of the items on the schedule.

I carefully place the diamond into the setting.  My masterpiece is nearly complete!

“Wait.  I’ve found him.  The jeweler is French.  His name is Charles Bohmer.  Oh!  He is the royal jeweler!  Not only that, he is the royal jeweler for King Louis XV!  But, wai, the stone is part of a larger piece, not this ring.  He didn’t make this ring.  He is putting the stone into a necklace.  God!  What a necklace!  It is his masterpiece.  He is making it for a woman who reveres extravagance.  It is being made for a woman named Madame du Barry.  The King will pay.  She gets anything she wants and no one questions it.  God!  It’s worth a fortune!”

I heard Veronica’s sharp intake of breath.  I have to admit, I was excited too.  It had been a long time since I read something so historically interesting.  I wish I had several hours to examine it, instead of only minutes.

Up the stream, not too far, I found an area of strong emotion.

“But, wait…the King has died, and Bohmer is out.  He has been cast out of court, and the necklace wasn’t completed in time to be given to Madame du Barry.  He has been saddled with its cost and pinned all his hopes on the new Queen purchasing the necklace.  But the Queen…  Ah!  The Queen is Marie Antoinette!  The Queen told him to break it up, she doesn’t want it!”

Unthinkable!

I encountered a new life force in the stream.

I admire the necklace, letting the elaborate rope of diamonds flow over my hands.  They are breathtaking.  The center diamond is astounding!  At least ten carats!  I will live like royalty!  No one will believe the Queen isn’t actually the one with the necklace.  Her reputation is soiled, and when I stay in Paris, instead of running away, people will say that I am innocent.  If I had taken the necklace, surely I wouldn’t stay in Paris!

I continued down several other new avenues and finally arrived at the desired location—the ring maker.

I opened my eyes and after carefully replacing the ring into the padded box, summarized my findings, barely containing my excitement.  “This is incredible!  I mean, I’ve read a lot of amazing things, but this…this you're just not going to believe!  Okay…you got the part about this stone being part of a much larger piece, right?”  Veronica nodded and my mouth ran full speed ahead.  “Okay, okay.  Well, that necklace, that incredible symbol of excess, was stolen by an extremely crafty woman named Countess de Lamotte.  Jeez!  And how she went about it was supremely audacious!  I mean, it’s like something out of a master spy novel or something, except it took place like two hundred plus years ago!”  I shook my head with disbelief.

Veronica’s eyes were alive with anticipation, and I could tell that she was eager to hear the rest of the story.  Confirming this, she chortled, “Girl, don’t keep me hangin’!  How did she do it?”

I gushed like a schoolgirl with a tasty piece of gossip.  “Well, she lured a prominent Cardinal into being an unwitting accomplice, for one!  To accomplish her plan, the Countess seduced this big shot cardinal—Cardinal Rohan—and then convinced him that she was also the Queen’s lesbian lover.  Talk about intrigue!  She actually hired a prostitute to impersonate the Queen and then arranged for Rohan to see the two of them together!  Can you believe it?

After that little escapade, the Cardinal was convinced that his new lover had the Queen’s confidence.  So, sometime later, the Countess told Rohan that the Queen wanted his help to secretly purchase Bohmer’s necklace on her behalf.  She told the Cardinal that the Queen wanted the necklace, but couldn’t come up with all the money at once and would pay him back on the installment plan.”  I laughed.  “Can you just believe that?  The installment plan!  Anyway, the Cardinal fell for it and purchased the necklace from Bohmer, thinking he was going to make points with the new Queen for this gracious favor.  Not to mention get his money back, but things didn’t work out too well for the Cardinal as you might imagine.

Anyway, the Countess then arranged for the Cardinal to give her the necklace, so she could secretly deliver it to the Queen.  Hello!  Instead, the Countess gave the necklace to her husband, who fenced it in London, where it was broken up.  Is that just not to be believed?

The goldsmith, who made this ring, was Edward Niles of London.  He made it for a woman named Lady Ann Becket in 1789.  He told her that the diamond had come from one of Marie Antoinette’s necklaces.  That’s probably where the current owner got the Marie Antoinette connection.”

Veronica turned off the recorder and then clasped her hands together.  “My goodness.  That’s almost better than being worn by Antoinette.  The owner is going to be very pleased.  And I owe her an apology.  I strongly encouraged her not to spend the extra money on a full accounting.  The Necklace Affair is a famous historical scandal.  It is known to have contributed to French Revolution, not to mention the downfall of King Louis and Marie Antoinette.  I’ll have to do some further research on it.  This is the first item I’ve encountered that relates to the infamous necklace.”

I glanced over at Vince.  He was looking at me with narrowed eyes, which gave him a guarded, suspicious expression.

“What?”  I stopped short of including, “…is your problem?” but I think my tone said it anyway.  I couldn’t help it.  Vince’s suspicious looks were really irritating.

He looked thoughtful for a moment.  “Look, I know you have a…a gift.  You proved it with our evidence.  It was a verifiable test.  But this,” he said, motioning to the ring, “this is not something that can be verified.  How does someone know that the appraisal isn’t…embellished?”

It was a valid question.  Vince had chosen his words and tone deliberately, so that I wouldn’t be offended by his doubts.  Briefly, I considered reevaluating the role in which I had cast the detective, but I set the thought aside.  I’d think about it later after I spent more time with him.

I looked at Veronica and nodded in her direction.

Veronica turned to Vince.  “There are several reasons why a buyer can trust our psychic authentications, Detective.  First, we are Sotheby’s.  Our reputation is beyond reproach, and we are most eager to maintain that status.  Second, we only use licensed clairvoyants.  The licensing process is extremely rigorous and is regulated by the Paranormal Regulatory Commission.  Third, on a historically important item such as this, we will have a second licensed clairvoyant examine the ring, for further endorsement.  And finally, we always perform a non-psychic appraisal on our items, which in this case bolsters Lire’s reading.  The ring was indeed made in the late eighteenth century.  Our antiquities expert also indicated that the ring’s mounting is English.”

She paused and leaned slightly toward Vince.  “In addition, Vince, on a more personal level, I’ve known Lire for close to eight years.  She is one of the finest people I know and has never been wrong on any of the readings she’s done for me.  Never.  And there have been literally hundreds.”

Vince nodded.  “I see.”

If Vince was uncomfortable, he didn’t look it.  If he wasn’t, I was.  I’ve never been graceful at taking compliments.  He looked in my direction, so, of course, I looked down.  I covered my embarrassment by pretending to admire the ring, which wasn’t difficult.

I spent the next thirty minutes examining over half of the remaining items on the table.  There were no big surprises, but I was beginning to feel fatigued.  No surprise there either, I guess.

Veronica looked at me sharply.  “Lire, you okay?  You look pale.”

I rubbed my face with both hands.  I felt slightly wobbly and my brain felt fuzzy, like I just woke up from an afternoon nap.  “Yeah.  I'm just lagging a bit today for some reason.”

“Maybe the blouse this morning taxed you more than you thought.”  Even though his voice didn't sound snippy or condescending, Vince's comment rubbed me the wrong way.

“Doubtful.  Actually, the blouse wasn’t as taxing as it could have been because I didn’t experience the worst it had to offer.  So I don’t think it's a factor.”

Vince leaned forward.  “What do you mean?”

I sat up straight and crossed my legs.  “I examined the psychic stream just prior to the murder.  When I recognized the victim and the murderer, I stopped reading the stream.  I avoided experiencing the murder, so I didn’t have to expend a bunch of power dealing with that trauma.”

“So, the blouse wasn’t the test it could have been,” he accused.

My brows knitted together.  “Are you kidding?  You want to grill me about the blouse now?”  I blew out an exasperated sigh.  “Look, we can discuss the merits of the blouse test later, okay?  Right now, I’m here on Veronica’s dime.”

Veronica's genial voice diffused any further discussion about the blouse, at least temporarily, but I knew Vince wasn't likely to let it slide completely.  “Lire, dear.  Are you ready for a coffee break?  I can send someone down to Peabody's for you.”

“Thanks.  A latte would be really nice.”  I put my gloves back on and stood up to retrieve my wallet from my handbag.

Vince got up.  “I’ll go down.  I could use a stretch anyway.”

“That's mighty kind of you, Vince.”  There was something about the genteel twang of Veronica's accent that I found especially appealing.  Doubly so when she was being gracious.

I found my own manners.  “Oh.  Thanks.  Just tell Julie or Steve that the latte is for me.  They know how I like it.”  I thrust my hand toward him, bills dangling from my fingers.

He waved it away and then looked at Veronica.  “Can I get you something too?”  When Veronica declined politely, Vince announced, “Okay.  I’ll be right back.”

I hate to admit it, but I caught myself evaluating the view of his backside as he made his way out.  He had taken off the suit jacket, revealing slacks that fell smoothly over his, ah, contours.  I might have enjoyed it more if he wasn't such an ass.

Veronica gave me a knowing look.  I busied myself with putting away my money, while trying not to feel like I had been caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

“Oooh, girl.  Talk about your fringe benefits.  Do you think it’s too late for a change of vocation?”  Veronica’s laugh was contagious.  In a moment, I was laughing too.

By the time Vince came back with my coffee, our conversation had moved on to more professional subjects, and I had finished examining the remaining items on the table.

Vince set the cup down next to me and then removed several layers of napkins that were wrapped around it, careful not to touch the cup with his hands.

“Julie’s got you trained up, I see.”

“Yeah.  She was quite specific,” he grumbled.

It waterribly schoolgirl of me, but I couldn’t wait to see what Julie thought about Vince.

Vince motioned toward the table.  “So, did I miss anything interesting?”

“Not really.”  I went through the items in my head and picked out the ones I thought were worth mentioning.  “Most of the readings just confirmed dates of the appraisals.  Oh, there was a manuscript that really was dictated by Robert Louis Stevenson and a beaded purse that was supposedly owned by Marilyn Monroe, but wasn’t.”  I shrugged.  “Nothing earth shattering.”

“Uh-huh.”

I studied his face for a moment, but didn’t have any luck reading it, so I turned to Veronica and renewed our discussion about scheduling the next visit.  Trying to figure Vince out was exhausting.

After retrieving my purse and coat, we headed to a bank of cubicles, not far from the lobby.  Veronica walked close to my side and looked at me frequently, I'm sure to verify that I was truly feeling okay.  When we arrived in Peg's cubicle, Veronica observed that the color was returning to my face and Peg immediately ordered me to sit down in the guest chair.  Peg was blonde and blue eyed, with a face like Kim Basinger, that is, if Kim Basinger was a size twenty-four.  Currently, her glossy, shoulder length blonde hair was out of her face, caught up in embellished bobby pins.  She was looking at me with concern.

I laughed.  “I'm fine!  Really,” I insisted, but sat down across from Peg, like she asked.

“Humor us, Lire,” Veronica ordered.  “This is the first time you've shown any sign of not being Superwoman.”

I rolled my eyes at Peg, and she gave me a sympathetic wink.  Peg was Veronica’s gregarious, but efficient administrative assistant, and was on my top ten list of favorite people.  She had worked with Veronica several years before I began my relationship with Sotheby’s.  I counted her as somewhere between a good acquaintance and a personal friend.  We didn’t telephone each other regularly, but I attended her wedding last year, and we exchanged small gifts at Christmas time.

I introduced Vince, and Peg replied demurely, “It's nice to meet you too, Detective.”

Her altered demeanor surprised me, and I smiled to myself when I realized that Peg was both flustered and intrigued by Vince's presence.  If I hadn't known Peg as well as I did, I probably wouldn't have noticed, but she wasn't acting like her usual, efficacious self.  After much paper shuffling, eye roaming, and flipping of hair (all on Peg's part), I signed off on the day's authentications.  We came up with a date for my next visit, and afterward, Veronica led the way back to the lobby.  Trailing behind, I glanced over my shoulder.  When Peg saw I was looking, she leered large and bit her clenched fist.  We both laughed.  Clearly, Peg thought Vince was a hottie.

It was ironic that the guy my friends seemed to admire was one I could hardly stand.

Before we left, I was mortified when Veronica charged Vince with taking good care of me.  “I’m counting on you, Vince, to keep Lire safe when she’s helping you on whatever this case of yours is.  She has a generous streak and doesn’t always look out for her own best interests.”  She looked at me and then back at Vince.  “She’s a real gem, and I hope you know how much it costs her to help people like us.  It’s a gift—don’t ever forget it.”

Vince responded to Veronica, but he was looking at me.  “Yes.  I’m beginning to see that.”

When Vince turned to Veronica and extended his hand, I gave her a definitive I-can’t-believe-you-just-said-that look, which she acknowledged with an innocent smile.

Vince continued, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep a close eye on her.”

Veronica shook his hand.  “Thank you, Vince.  It was wonderful meeting you.”

Vince nodded.  “You too.  I'm glad I had the opportunity to stop by.  Thanks for allowing me to indulge my curiosity.”

“Any time, Detective.”  Veronica beamed.

I shook my head and gave her a patient smile.  “I’ll talk to you later.”

We said goodbye to Veronica and then headed toward the elevators.

“She really cares about you,” he commented after a few moments of silence.

I smiled.  “Yeah.  I know.  I’m the daughter she never had, and she’s the mother I never knew.  It’s a good arrangement.”

He pressed the down arrow to call the elevator.  “Are you up for this?”

I was briefly taken aback.  “Yes, I think so.  Let’s just see how it goes, okay?”  If Vince kept this up, I might have to reconsider despising him.  Will wonders never cease?

We entered the elevator, and Vince pressed a button for the first parking garage level.  “We’ll take my car to the site.  I’ll bring you back when we’re finished.”

I nodded, and then Vince filled the silence of the elevator with a discussion of where he was taking me.  I was only vaguely familiar with the area, so the names of the various back roads didn't ring any bells, but I got the general idea of where we were headed.

Now that we were on our way to the murder site, I worried again about how I was going to explain any information Red might come up with.

CHAPTER THREE

Vince drove an older, navy blue Jeep Cherokee.  Its windows were tinted and a black, coiled antenna protruded from the roof.  He unlocked the doors with his remote.  I was relieved that he didn't open the passenger door and hold it for me.  Maybe it sounds silly, but that would have made me feel like we were headed out on an awkward date, instead of going to a crime scene.

I slid into the tan interior, placed my folded coat on my knees and looked around.  Not a fast food bag, gasoline receipt or candy wrapper in sight.  “This car belong to you?” I asked when he got in.

“Yeah.  Why?”  He looked at me dubiously.

“Wow.  It’s just that, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a clean car that wasn’t new, or a rental.  You’re not a neat freak, are you?”

Vince just grunted and then started the car.  I guess he wasn’t going to dignify my question with an answer.  What I didn’t mention was that I was an unequivocal, anal retentive, clutter buster myself.

I settled myself in the seat by way of buckling my safety belt and Vince headed toward the freeway.  He drove conservatively, maybe only five over the limit, keeping one hand at the bottom of the steering wheel and the other loose on his lap.

We drove for nearly five minutes without a word before Vince broke the silence.  “So what kind of name is Lear?  Parents obsessed with Shakespeare or something?”

I couldn’t help but laugh.  “No,” I managed to say between chuckles.  “It’s spelled L-I-R-E, not L-E-A-R.  It’s a nickname I picked up in school.”  I added quickly, “And to answer your next question, it means 'to read' in French.  My Dad was French, so I let the name stick.”

“Ah.  And, the next obvious question?=(

I blinked, thought for a second, and then laughed.  “My real name?  No.  If you want to know that, you can find out for yourself.”

“Embarrassed?”

“No,” I lied and then laughed again.  The main reason I embraced my nickname in high school was because my real first name had subjected me to ceaseless teasing.  It was an unusual name and the boys in school somehow likened it to a sexual part of female anatomy.  Leave it to teenage boys to twist anything into a sexual innuendo.  Vince could figure that one out on his own.  I smiled coyly.  “A girl’s entitled to a few secrets.”

“Like duping Jensen and me with the blouse.”  He made it a statement, instead of a question.

I was astonished that Vince leveled the accusation of duplicity when he and Jensen set up the phony reading in the first place.  “Now that's calling the kettle black.  You wanted to know whether I could read such an emotionally potent object, and I can.  Experiencing the murder only demonstrates my psychological stamina, not my magical ability.”

Vince came right back at me.  “You’re right.  That’s exactly what we were after.  We need to know that you won’t miss important clues because you're avoiding something unpleasant.  If we can’t rely on you to get the whole picture, we need to get someone who can.”

His accusatory tone instantly put me on the defensive.  “Look, Vince.  I hate to break it to you, but I’m probably all you’ve got.  There are eleven licensed clairvoyants west of the Mississippi and I know of only three that will work with the police on a regular basis.  You’ve already interviewed the other two.  The fact of the matter is that I’ve dealt with more psychologically wrenching crap than you and Jensen put together.  I’ve committed countless crimes.  I’ve been a murderer, a thief, a rapist, and I’ve been scores of victims.  I am well and truly psychologically hardened, Detective.  All starting from the age of three when I discovered that my mother was having an affair with my uncle.”

Vince glanced over at me with raised eyebrows and then shook his head as he looked back to the road.

“Jesus,” he muttered, while raking his fingers through his thick, brown hair.  He didn’t call me a freak, but I didn’t have to be a mind reader to know he was thinking it.

The tension in the car was palpable, but I refused to smooth things over.  I stared angrily out of the passenger window, looking at nothing.  What the hell was I doing this for anyway?  It wasn’t like I was getting paid, since all police work was done pro bono.  I toyed with the idea of telling Vince to take me back to the city, but then I remembered what Red had said earlier.  Once word got out that a warlock serial killer was on the loose…  I sighed in resignation.

I was still simmering when we took an exit from the freeway on to a two-lane, country road.  The scenery was green and delicious, with houses few and far between.  Amazingly, a blue sky was peeking from behind the typical low, misty clouds.  The sun was shining here and there, and it looked like the clouds might actually burn off soon.

I shifted my legs to ease a cramp, and suddenly the car careened from side to side.  As my hands flew to the armrest and dashboard reflexively, my attention was immediately diverted to the road for an explanation of our maneuver.  I had a scant second to see that we were alone on the two-lane highway when Vince started frantically cursing a blue streak.  His body was pressed about as close as possible to the driver side door, without jumping out of the car, and he was barely managing to keep the car in the appropriate lane.  Itght have been funny if not for the fact that the car was still doing fifty-five and the expression on Vince’s face was one of sheer horror.

Instinctively, I flinched away from the center of the car, which seemed to be the source of Vince’s panic.  With a burning fear deep in the pit of my stomach, I darted my eyes between us and expected something terrifying.

“Oh my God!  Vince!  It’s okay, it’s okay.”  I reached toward the floor between the two front seats, where my purse had fallen over, and frantically gathered the items that had spilled out.

Immediately, Vince regained control of the car if not his composure.  He was breathing hard and gripping the steering wheel tightly.  “Jesus H. Christ!  What the fuck was that thing?”

My heart was still hammering in my chest.  “Jeez.  I am really sorry, Vince.  I was careless.  Don’t worry.  You’re not losing it.  It's an aversion spell, a really powerful one.”

He removed one hand from the steering wheel to run it nervously through his hair.  “Christ!  How could you touch it?”

“The spell doesn’t affect me.”

My stomach was beginning to feel normal again, and I took a deep breath to slow my heart rate.  Vince was clearly still in distress.  Both hands were clamped once again to the steering wheel and his body was completely rigid.  The persistence of his reaction will tell you something about the power of the spell.

“If you don’t mind telling me…what exactly did you see?” I asked, still slightly breathless.

His knuckles turned white on the steering wheel, and he stared hard at the road.  “A swarming…wet…putrid mass of squirming snakes…and…and God knows what else.  Leeches, maybe.  I don’t know.  It was a slithering pile.  Dark and…and…ugh!  I was sure they were deadly.”  Vince was still breathing quickly and let out a shaky laugh.  I could tell he was recovered enough to be embarrassed about his reaction.  “Now that I think about it—it’s stupid.  I mean, how likely is it that you’d carry something like that in your purse?”  He glared over at me.  “So, if it’s not snakes, then what the hell is it?”

“I’ll show you, but I think you should pull off to the side first.”

“Jesus.”  He checked the rear view mirror and slowed the car.  We pulled off into a small dirt clearing.

“Is this going to freak me out again?  I’ve about had it with this magic shit.”  His voice was almost normal, albeit a tad on the grumpy side, and there were no more nervous gestures.  Too bad, because I almost enjoyed watching him run his fingers through his wavy, dark hair.

“Probably.”  I added hastily, “But not like before.  Okay, don't try to get close, and you'll be fine.”

I lowered my hand, palm up, into my purse, and Red hopped on to it.  I usually avoided grabbing him because he was a person, not a stuffed toy—current body not withstanding.  If I were trapped inside a stuffed animal body, I think it would really get on my nerves having someone grab me and throw me around all the time.  It was already an indignity for him to be carried around in my purse.  I didn’t want to make it worse by treating him like a toy.

I moved my hand to the dashboard, as far away from Vince as possible, and waited for Red to climb off.  “Vince, may I introduce my good friend Red.  Red, this is Detective Vince Vanelli of the Chiliquitham Police Department.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Detective.”  Red sat down and leaned against the corner strut of the windshield.

Vince stared at him open mouthed for longer than was polite.  Finally, he looked at me.  “He’s black, not red.”

“Red is the nickname he acquired when he lived a normal life over three hundred years ago.  His full name is John Redborn.  Being cast into the body of a black teddy bear is an ironic twist of fate.”

“Uh-huh.  Three hundred years ago…”

When Vince didn’t say anything else, I glanced over at Red.  “Red, do you think we’ve done irreparable damage to Vince’s psyche?  He’s not speaking in complete sentences.  That’s not a good sign.”

“It’s possible.  You better keep a close eye on him.”  He added, “And you might think about driving too.”  Red crossed his legs and started tapping his foot.  He was a fidget, and it made the contrast between toy and human even more unnerving.

Vince rubbed his right hand over the lower part of his face.  I faintly heard the scratching sound of his five o’clock shadow.  He shook his head slowly, with his hand cupped over his chin and lower lip, and chuckled softly.  “Very funny.  Miss Wise-ass.”  He rested his right arm over the back of his seat and took a deep breath.  Vince was clearly trying to remain calm, despite seeing something that was completely out of the ordinary.  He gestured at Red with his left hand.  “Okay, so what’s the story?  Why is a grown woman carrying an animated, three-hundred-year-old teddy bear in her purse?  And why the spell?  You know I almost crashed the car back there.  You’re lucky we’re not spread all over the pavement right now.”

“I know.  I’m sorry.”  Vince was understandably upset, but his 'grown woman' comment hit me the wrong way.  “And for your information, Red isn't just a stuffed animal that I tote around for fun.  He's a person and not something that I can just leave in a basket at home.”

Vince glanced at Red and then regarded me with a raised eyebrow.

I sighed and thought of where to begin telling him about Red.  “My father got Red for me when I was four-and-a-half, about a year after my ability came to light.  He realized, early on, that my life was destined to be virtually devoid of true companionship.  By that time, my mother practically refused to have anything to do with me and kept me inside, away from other children.  When he realized this, my father searched for something or someone who could be my companion.  It took him almost a year to acquire Red.”

I glared at Vince.  “It makes complete sense that my Dad would get his four-year-old a teddy bear.  What else would he choose?”  Past ridicule gave me a definite sore spot where toting Red was concerned.  I had to work to keep the tone of my voice reasonable.  “Of course, when I first got Red, being just four, I thought he was a toy brought to life.  As I grew up, I learned that he was a real person, like me.”  I glanced at Red.  “I don’t know how he managed to endure those first few years when I treated him like a cuddly toy.  But, eventually, I learned who he was, and we became good friends; in spite, I think, of the binding spell that compels him to protect me.

I motioned toward the floorboards, where Red had spilled out from my purse.  “The aversion spell that you encountered is one of several spells that are meant to keep anyone from intentionally or unintentionally touching Red.  I am able to touch him without my gloves because he is psychically clean.  The spells are meant to keep it that way.  There's also a more powerful spell that goes into effect if the aversion spell isn't enough to keep someone from touching him.”

“I can’t imagine that happening.”  He shuddered.  “So what does that spell do—ow you up?”

I sat silently and gave him a knowing look.

“You’re kidding?  It blows you up?”  His eyes narrowed, and he looked at me dubiously.  I guess he wasn’t quite ready to believe everything.

I smiled broadly.  “Yeah, I’m kidding.  But it does knock you flat with a nasty shock.  Sort of like a stun gun.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he accused.  I gave him a puzzled, wide-eyed look in reply and almost kept from smiling.

Vince looked at Red.  “Red, what’s your story?  You’ve held up well, for being three hundred years old.”

Red replied, in his slightly accented English.  “The benefit of magic, Detective.  Over the last three hundred years, I have been in many vessels.  This soft body is only the latest.  But if you don’t mind, I’d prefer it if Lire told you the story.”

“Why don’t we keep driving, and I’ll tell you on the way,” I suggested.

By the time we pulled up to a remote farmhouse, Vince knew as much about Red as most of my good friends.  There were several cars parked in the gravel driveway, so Vince pulled his Jeep into the overgrown area that was once a front lawn.

“How did your Dad find him?  This type of thing can’t be cheap or easy to come by.”  He glanced at Red.  “Sorry to be so blunt.”

“No offense taken, Detective.”

I shrugged.  “My Dad had a lot of contacts.  He was a tax attorney and had several witchcraft corporations for clients.  I know he traded some big time favors and probably paid a mint, in order to get him.”

“I was a guilt gift,” Red commented.

I gave Red a wistful smile.  “Yes.  You were.”

Vince looked puzzled, so I elaborated, “My parents decided to send me away to boarding school as soon as I was old enough to go to kindergarten.  I know it was one of the reasons my father went so far out of his way to get Red.  It eased his conscience.”

We were starting to get into sensitive territory, so I looked around and asked.  “So, where to?”

Vince dipped his head to peer through the windshield and nodded his head toward the left.  “The site is over that hill.”

I held my purse open to Red, and he deftly jumped into the inside front pocket while I followed Vince's gaze.  A hike wasn't high on my list of priorities, but at least it wasn't raining.

The obligatory faded white farmhouse was tucked between a copse of thirty-foot maples and a gentle hillside.  It was a modest, two story affair, with a large picture window that overlooked a now sagging front porch.  There were white lace curtains in the downstairs windows, yellowed from the sun and age, and upstairs the windows were a patchwork of different colored draperies.  One window was faded blue, another yellow and the last was that awful seventies burnt orange.

To the left of the house I noticed a dilapidated picket fence with matching gate.  The direction of the crime scene was made obvious, by the dozens of foot-shaped indentations left in the lush, vibrant green grass that covered the hillside.  The trampled grass made a path through the gate and up the hill.

Vince opened the gate, and we slogged up the slope toward the murder scene.  If I had known I’d be trooping through four-inch high, dew-covered grass, I would have chosen to wear a different outfit.  I was dressed for meeting with clients.  Okay, my ensemble was a little more aggressive than normal.  I compensated for my police jitters by wearing a power suit.  You know—the hip, black number with my favorite high-heeled boots.  These boots were not made for walkin’.  Vince seemed to be amused by my obvious struggle to keep the three-inch heels from sinking into the soft ground.  I know I caught a smirk at least once.

When we finally reached the weathered, post and wire fence at the top of the hill, my calf muscles were burning from the exertion.  I'm in decent shape, but my workouts didn't generally involve tiptoeing up a hill for half a mile.  Maybe I needed to add a new circuit to my exercise program.

Vince reached the gate first and then waited for me to close the distance, looking comfortable and incredibly smug.  I tried to ignore the mischievous grin playing on his lips and failed.

I looked at him scathingly.  “Thank you for telling me all about this wonderful nature hike.  I never would have considered changing into the Nikes sitting in the back of my car.  It's just so much better having the fun of ruining my boots.”  I narrowed my eyes.  “I won’t forget this, Vince.”

The snub would have gone over much better if I had been able to stalk away.  But as it was, I had to fumble with figuring out how to get through the gate.  It didn’t have hinges because this area of the property was divided by barbed wire country fencing.  The gate consisted of two large posts secured to each other with a loop of heavy rope at the top and a thick wire loop at the bottom.  I folded my arms across my stomach and glared at Vince.

He threw up his hands in supplication and laughed at my dramatics.  “I’m sorry.  Believe me, I didn’t think of it until we started walking.  Really.”

“Yeah, right.  Some detective you are!  Didn’t even notice my shoes.”

I watched silently while he opened the gate.  After we stepped through the opening and he re-secured the gate, I demanded, “So, how much further is it anyway?”

“After we crest the hill, it’s down about three hundred feet or so.”

I followed Vince, grumbling quietly to Red.  Once the hill crested, the way was a bit easier.  The ground flattened out, was rockier and not as wet, and I was able to relax and put my heels down.  Now I just had to worry about breaking my neck from tripping over a rock.

On this side of the hill, the land did not drop off again as I imagined it would.  Instead, our path took us down a shallow incline toward a large grove of trees.  On either side, I could see cows grazing off in the distance.  The trees were spaced far apart, with tall, leggy shrubs and weeds growing between them.

From the slightly higher vantage, I saw there were people behind the greenery.  When we got closer to the grove, I heard their voices and was able to make out the yellow tape that delineated the scene.

Vince crossed under the tape and acknowledged the officers waiting nearby.  On the opposite side of the circle, three men were standing in the grass.  Before we approached, they were engaged in an animated conversation, but now each quietly observed our entry into the area.  A large, blue plastic bin was on the ground next to them.  Vince waited while I carefully picked my way along the rock-strewn path.  He held up the tape as I ducked under it.

Even from a fair distance, I could sense the slight afterglow of magic that emanated from the circle.  It rubbed against my body, like a fog or a cat, engulfing me in its soft energy and making the hairs of my arms stand on end.  I stood still for several seconds and tasted the magic.  There was still power in the air and something else.  Something unpleasant.

One of the men called a greetingross the circle, “Hey, Vanelli.”  He was fifty-ish, with receding golden hair and a moderate beer gut protruding from his jacket.

Vince nodded at him.  “Kopeky.”  He nodded again at the next man, who was tall and thin with mousey brown hair and a cigarette hanging from his mouth.  “Andersen.”  The third man, who was black with closely cropped hair, was named Marshall.  Both Marshall and Kopeky were wearing King County Sheriff's uniforms.

“We’re ready to wrap it up as soon as she’s done,” Kopeky informed Vince.

He nodded again, this time in acknowledgement, and then turned to face me.  “You’re on.  How do you work?  Do you want me to stay with you, or would you prefer to walk the site alone?”

I glanced at the three men and then focused on Vince.  “I'll just work my way around.  There's no real reason to stay with me.  If I have any questions, I'll ask.”  I was feeling slightly self-conscious, but I didn’t want him to think that I wasn’t a big girl.  “Give me the highlights and then you can go talk to your colleagues.”

“The site is virtually identical to the one you saw in the photographs this morning.  The only differences are the location and the victim.”  He turned and gestured toward the center of the circle.  “The victim’s bones are there.  The larger grass circle is on the left side.”  Vince pointed to the far left of the blast area.  “You can just see it from here.”

“I take it that the plastic bin over there is for transporting the victim’s bones?”

Vince looked over at the group of men.  “Yes.  The guy with the cigarette is from the medical examiner’s office.”

“Okay.”  I nodded and moved to examine the edge of the circle.  There was a sharp edge between the unnaturally bare earth of the blasted circle and the healthy grass on the outside.  I scanned the edge, looking for a patch of ground that was protected by one of the warlock’s runes.  I spotted a green patch to the right, a couple of yards away, and walked toward it, carefully staying on the outside of the main circle.

I was pretty sure that I wouldn’t get a reading from the grass spot because, even if the warlock had touched the runestone with his flesh, it wasn't possible for the stone to transfer that essence to the grass.  Inanimate objects don’t transfer their psychic energy to other objects.  Only living beings can do that.  But, on the off chance that the perpetrator touched the grass underneath the rune, I decided to check it out.  I removed my gloves and placed them inside my purse.

“You okay, Red?” I asked in a subdued voice.

“Yes.  The remnants of the spells are still perceptible.  The warlock is a master of darkness, there is no doubt.  I will be able to discern more, once I am inside.”  He must have sensed my anxiety because he assured me, “Don’t worry, the magic inside the circle will be more apparent, not necessarily stronger.  The circle is broken.  Much will cling inside, but most of the power behind it has dissipated.  Are you ready?”

“I guess so.  Here we go.”

Red was right, the level of residual magic was not especially stronger on the inside of the circle.  Instead, the various essences became more distinct, like shining a light through a prism and seeing its constituent colors.  I suspected that Red would have no trouble determining the classes of spells used, if not the exact spells themselves.

I bent down and touched the small patch of grass, where the rune had protected it from destruction.  As I suspected, there wasn’t any human contact with the grass that I was able to detect. Even so, I needed to check all of them, for sake of completeness.

I worked my way around the outside of the main circle, bending down and thoroughly touching each of the five grass patches.  When I drew closer to Deputy Kopeky and the other men, their conversation trailed off.  They observed me skeptically, and yet I knew they were privately hoping for some theatrics.  Unfortunately, they were going to be disappointed and convinced of fakery because my magic isn't showy.  It happened all the time.  Only verifiable evidence would vindicate me.  Until I established my credibility with these men, suspicion was inevitable, no matter what my references said.

I finished my circuit of the small grass patches, finding nothing of interest, and turned my attention to the larger circle at the south side of the blast zone.  As soon as I drew close, I was assailed with an overwhelming sense of dread.  This, I realized, was the source of my initial feeling of unease, of something unsavory when I first approached the site.  Now, however, instead of a minor discomfort that I could ignore, my body was screaming at me to leave.  Go home!  You should not be here!  GO NOW!  GO NOW OR DIE!

“Lire?” Red called quietly from his hiding place.

Something crashed into my back.  I screamed into my hands, which surprised me because I didn’t remember covering my mouth beforehand.  Instantly I whirled around and lashed out against my assailant, still screaming in horror.  Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion.  I felt fuzzy and light headed and realized too late that I had been attacking Vince’s chest full bore, with my closed fists.  Before I was able to regain my composure, he grabbed both of my arms in an effort to hold me back.

I stared at his hands on my bare skin and screamed in shock, but it was too late.  My magic flared out instantly.

“Oh shit!”  Vince realized his mistake and pushed my arms away with such force that I was thrown to the ground.

Still reeling from the evil emanation, I stayed down and instinctively covered my face with my hands.  I simply could not take any more input.  Only my deep-seated dislike for looking completely pathetic prevented me from rolling over and curling up into a ball, right then and there.

Although I almost never have to deal with coming in contact with someone’s bare skin, it has happened on occasion.  Last year, in the supermarket, I was blocking a young woman’s path, and she tapped me on the shoulder to get my attention.  My back was turned, so she didn’t notice my gloves and what they meant.  (Most who see the gloves, keep their distance; as if close proximity allowed me to read their minds through the air.)  Unfortunately, I was wearing a tank top that day, and a couple of her fingers touched my skin.  Because my shield was in place, I was able to deal with the casual touch after only a moment’s hesitation.  I moved aside, and the girl never noticed her blunder.

Normally, my psychic shield is always up.  I’ve learned to keep it constantly at a low level, without having to concentrate on the task, and I am a strong enough clairvoyant to tolerate the power loss without any ill effects.  My shield doesn't prevent the psychic energy from entering my body, but I can use it to control the stream and protect myself from being overwhelmed.  For a careless touch, it means the difference between living with another person’s life experiences forever, or coiling them up and tossing them back out.

This wasn’t always the case.  In the beginning, before my power matured and I learned to control it, accidental contact was much more dangerous.  When mistakes happened, I was stuck with every nuance of the person or object’s essence.  Aer nearly thirty years, I was living with dozens of other people’s memories in my mind.  Only time would fade them.

Now, for some unexplained reason, my shield didn't respond.  When Vince grabbed me, it was almost nonexistent.  I felt my power blossom and knew that I was going to be living with him in my head for the rest of my life.

I removed my hands and looked at Vince.  He was angrily pacing back and forth, a few yards away, and the nervous gestures were back.  He alternated between running a hand through his thick hair, to rubbing his chin.  I think every now and then he muttered, “Shit!  Shit!  Shit!” under his breath.

Red called out again, “Lire, are you okay?”

My hand was covering my mouth in astonishment.  Once again, I don’t remember doing it.  I guess it’s one of those involuntary gestures people make when they’ve been shocked silly.  “My God!  It’s impossible.”  My hands trembled in my lap, and I fought the urge to put them over my mouth again.

Vince looked in my direction, but he must not have liked my expression because the color drained out of his face and his features hardened in anger.  “Think you’ve got my number now, do you?  That’s just fucking perfect!”

It took me a few moments for his words to sink in.  “Vince…”

His fists were clenched tightly at his sides, and he walked stiffly to tower above me.  “I don’t want to hear it.”  He drew out each word, biting it off, so there would be no confusion.

“Vince, it’s not what you think.”

He turned his back on me and stalked away.  Okay, now I was starting to get pissed.  He was the one who touched me, not the other way around, and yet it was my fault.  But worst of all, he wasn’t listening to me.  That was a big pet peeve.  Nothing makes me angrier than someone who deliberately blows me off.

“Dammit, Vanelli!”  I struggled to stand up.  “If you stopped being such a self-centered bastard for one minute, you’d find out that I didn’t read anything from you.  Thank God!  'Cause the last thing I want in this world is to be stuck with your freaking secrets in my head for the rest of my life.”

He stopped suddenly and turned the upper half of his body to look at me.  His expression was lanced by uncertainty, his eyes still angry.

“Lire, what happened?  Are you okay?” Red asked again.  I suddenly realized that he had asked me twice already, but I was too distracted to answer.

I looked away from Vince, swallowing my anger, and shifted my purse so I could see Red.  “I’m sorry Red, I was…occupied.”

“I noticed.  What happened back there?”  Red motioned toward the circle.

Vince approached and stopped a few feet away from us.  Apparently curiosity was winning over his angry embarrassment.

I knew what Red was gesturing at, but I looked at the grass circle anyway and shuddered.  “I…I don’t know.  It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced.  It is beyond evil.  It’s the worst thing I’ve ever encountered.  You know better than anyone just how bad that is.”

“Yes.  I do.  You sensed the psychic imprint left by the demon that was called to the pentagram, although, I did not expect you to be so very affected.  I’m sorry.  If I had known, I would have warned you.”

I turned to Vince.  “Why did you run into me?”  I suddenly looked around the circle.  “Hey, where did the three other guys go?”

He looked stony.  “I sent them up the hill to wait.”

I didn’t ask him why.  It was obvious.  He was embarrassed about being touched by a clairvoyant.  Wouldn’t want the other boys to hear any details, now would we?

He continued, “And I didn’t run into you.  You ran into me.”

“No, I didn’t.”  Even as I said it, I flashed on the memory of screaming into my hands and being surprised that they were at my mouth.  A twinge of doubt nagged at the back of my mind.

“Yes, you did.”  He was still angry.  “How do you think you got all the way over here?”

I looked to my right and saw the bones were no more than a few feet away.  The grass circle was at least ten yards distant.  Damn.  I must have been backing up and not realized it.  “I don’t know.  I thought we did that when I was fighting you.”  I looked down, embarrassed.  “I’m sorry about that.  I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“You got in a couple good shots, but I've had worse.”  He shifted nervously on his feet.  “If you didn’t read anything from me, why were you looking so shocked?  Why did you scream when I touched you?”

“I screamed because I wasn’t prepared to deal with your psychic energy.  Reading a person is both physically and psychically demanding for me.  I was far from being ready when you grabbed me.”  I shook my head with puzzlement.  “For some reason, my shield is completely shot.  I don't know why.  Maybe because of the emission from the circle.  That's why I was so shocked when I didn’t get a reading from you.  This has never happened before…well, not with a normal anyway.”  I cocked my head at him.  “Do you know why I didn’t get a reading?”

He looked startled.  “Me?  How would I know that?”

“Hmm.  I don’t know.  This is new territory for me.”  I shook my head and muttered, “Maybe there’s hope for me after all.”

“What?”

I waved him away.  “Never mind.  Let’s get on with this, so we can get out of here.  Red, I don’t think I can face the grass circle again.  Can you check it out on your own?”

“Sure.  Put me down.  I’ll walk over.”

I walked a few steps closer to the grass circle and then put my purse near the ground so he could jump down.

Vince came to stand next to me, and we watched Red toddle over to the grass circle.  He shook his head in awe and gestured at Red.  “Watching him walk…it’s disconcerting.”  He shrugged.  “I’m sure you’re used to it.”

I nodded.  “Yeah.  That's why I don’t usually expose him to people I don’t know, especially normals.  Most people are happy to live their lives oblivious to magic.  Besides, it makes Red uncomfortable to be so noticed, and I don’t want to tempt anyone into trying to touch him.  Because of his uniqueness, that's the first thing people want to do, especially kids.  And, of course, there's the worry about theft.”

Vince considered me.  “Would you have shown him to me if he hadn’t fallen out of your purse?”

I shrugged.  “Most likely.  He’s my black magic expert, and you probably would have demanded to know how I got my information.”

He snorted.  “What have you come up with?”

“Not much,” I admitted.  “I checked the small grassy spots, in case the witch or warlock touched the grass, but they didn’t.”

“But the suspect touched the runes.”

“Yes, but inanimate objects don’t transfer psychic energy to other things.  Only humans or anims do that.”

“Do demons have psychic energy?” he asked.

“I don’t know.  Maybe.  I don't have any direct experience with them, so I can’t say for sure.”

“And you aren’t going to check.”  I heard the disappointment in his voice, but I let it go.  I really didn’t want to argue with him.  It was tedious.

“I don’t think I can.”  I turned and looked at Vince.  “Have you tried going near it?  Even a normal can sense the contamination a demon leaves behind.  I think you and everyone else investigating the site have unconsciously avoided it.  Or do you think I’m wrong?”

He opened his mouth to say something and then reconsidered, closing his mouth with a slight clack of teeth.  As he turned toward the circle, I could practically see the wheels turning as he considered my question.  The muscles surrounding his mouth tightened, which made his square jaw even more pronounced.  His eyes narrowed in thought.  I could tell by his expression that he was determined to prove me wrong.

I guess he took my question as a challenge.  He launched toward the circle with large, determined strides, but when he got within six feet, his gait faltered.  First he slowed and then staggered to a stop about two feet from the circle's leading edge.  Both of his hands were down at his sides, fingers clenched into tight fists.  He was not a happy camper—that much was obvious.  I couldn’t see his face, but I was betting that it wasn’t pretty.  Slowly and with extreme effort, Vince jerked his feet closer to the edge of the circle.  The Frankenstein walk would have been comical if it weren’t for his grunts of strain and ragged breathing.  It helped that I also knew what he was going through.  The atmosphere near the circle seemed to automatically trigger the flight instinct.  He was trying to fight instead of flee, and it wasn’t easy.

Awkwardly, he went down to one knee and then reached toward the defiled grass.  Red saw him approaching and moved to observe Vince from about five feet away.  His body was shaking visibly, but he managed to put his left hand on the grass.  I heard him grunt loudly, like a weight lifter, and then he shuffled backwards, using his hands to help, until he was several body lengths away from the circle.  His pants and shoes were covered in ground-in dirt.  I managed to walk to his side, by focusing all my attention on him and gritting my teeth against the repellant ambiance.  I crouched down beside him, keeping about eighteen inches between us, so he didn’t feel crowded.

I peered at his face, but he was looking at the ground.  His hair shrouded his eyes.  “Vince?”  He didn’t respond, so I tried again.  “Vince?  Detective Vanelli?  Are you okay?”

“No.”  His voice came out deep and gravelly.

I had to laugh.  “Okay.  Stupid question.  Can you stand?  I think we should back up.  The atmosphere’s still pretty thick here.”

“Yeah, sure.”  He slowly stood up, pushing one arm down against his thigh for leverage.

Red approached us as we were making our way back to the pile of bones.  “That was about the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen.”

After dusting his hands free of dirt, Vince smoothed his hair back out of his face.  “I won’t argue.”

“Why’d you do it then?”

“Lire thought we all might have been subconsciously avoiding the area.  I wanted to see if she was right.”

“I guess you got your answer,” Red observed.

I folded my arms.  “Now multiply that by a hundred and you’ll know why I cantouch that grass.”

“It doesn't matter,” Red told us.  “I know what was inside the pentagram.  The warlock knows how to summon the arch-demon Paimon and compel its aid.  I detected a spell that is specific to that demon.  It's a high level evocation that weakens any magic user’s defense and leaves them open to even the most fundamental spells.  That’s why you are having problems with your shield, Lire.  Even the ancillary affects are enough to compromise your defenses to a certain degree.”

“How do you know all this?” Vince asked.

“Because in my human life I was a necromancer and a summoner.  I believe the going term is black magus, although, that implies devil worship, which is not always the case.”

“But you summoned demons.  That sure sounds like devil worship to me.”

“I summoned many creatures, but they weren't devils.  Study your Christian mythology, Detective.  You will find that many demons are not wholly evil.  True, they are almost always selfish and duplicitous, and one must always be wary, but rarely do they seek your soul as payment for knowledge.  Unfortunately, the dark arts have always drawn those looking for the easy path to power.  Many of these summoners are evil or eventually turn to evil, so the devil worship appellation has stuck.”

Vince folded his arms across his chest.  “So there are demons that aren’t after your soul?  That's not what I've been told.”

“I didn’t say they weren’t after your soul.  What I said was that there are many who don’t demand it as payment for their aid.  Many demons take pleasure in our world and are willing to work with a summoner in order to enjoy it, even if it’s only for a short time.”

“Does this…Paimon have a piece of our warlock?”  Vince gestured toward the larger grass circle.

“I don’t know.  He has either traded his, or someone else’s soul, or he knows Paimon’s true name.  Paimon would not aid a human for any other reason.  It is evil through and through.”

“Knowing its true name, what does that mean?”

“If you are a summoner and learn a demon’s true name—not the common name from mythology, but the name from which the demon draws its magic—then you will have the power to call it at any time and force its aid without any negotiation or agreement.”  Red added the caveat, “As long as you have the power to keep control and are not tricked into losing it.”

“But you’re not able to tell which way the demon was called?”

“No.”

“Do you know Paimon’s true name?” Vince asked.

Red was quick to respond.  “No.  Anyway, it is immaterial.  When I died, my magic abilities died too.  I can still sense magic, but cannot employ it.”

“Okay, can we hire a summoner who knows the true name to compel Paimon to tell us the identity of the warlock?”

Red’s irritation bubbled up to the surface, “You who think all summoners are devil worshipers—you would ask someone to risk their eternal soul for this information?”

Vince frowned.  “I see.  No, I wouldn’t.”

Red continued, “Regardless, the point is moot.  Summoners don’t brag about knowing such things.  A demon’s true name is something of great power and a closely guarded secret.  No summoner would advertise having such knowledge, especially not of a demon as powerful as Paimon.”

“Then this gets us nowhere.”

Red shrugged.

ince turned his attention to me.  The early afternoon sun illuminated his dark brown eyes, making them look the color of milk chocolate.  “The identity of the victim.  We don’t know it yet.  We also don’t know who the first victim was—the one from the crime scene photos—but you can get that one for us later.”

“Uh, okay.  Do you have something you know the victim touched?” I asked.

Confusion furrowed his brow.  “We have the bones.”  Duh, his voice implied.

I looked at him with an expression that I knew was a mix of horror and shock.  “What?  You want me to touch the victim’s bones?”

He looked genuinely surprised by my reaction.  “Well, yes.”

“Do you know how demanding that is?  Even the most powerful clairvoyants avoid them like the plague!”

“What?  Now you’re telling me you won’t read this either?”  He jerked his arm sharply several times at the pile of bones, punctuating every few words as he spoke.  “You’re not doing us a damn bit of good.  Two things that could yield results and you won’t touch them!  That’s just great!”  He brought his arm down fast and it hit his thigh with a dull slap.

I met his angry gaze with a fierce one of my own.

Dammit!  Once again his ignorance about my abilities was making me look weak.  I had just about enough of his you-can’t-do-anything-right attitude.  It was insulting, and it wasn’t like he had done much better on his own.  Red and I had already told Vince things that he never would have discovered by normal means.  He was a deceptive, small minded, ungrateful jerk, and there was only one way to shut him up.  If it put me in the hospital, it would serve him right.  I know it was childish, but I had reached my limit.

“You are so damned clueless!”  I practically spat the last word into his face.

I gave him my most lethal, withering glare and, without another word, moved to pick up the nearest bone.

Red yelled, “Lire!  NO!” but it was too late.

My power surged instantaneously, in a blinding, internal glare that I had never felt before.  A fluttering feeling ran rampant through the pit of my stomach, and I realized that I was airborne a split second before the ground knocked the wind from me.  I had just enough time to worry briefly about breathing again before I lost consciousness.

CHAPTER FOUR

When I opened my eyes, I was lying prone.  The ground was hard beneath me.  The meaty parts of my backside weren’t sore, so I didn’t think I had been lying there for very long.  I blinked several times, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the illumination in the…room?  It felt like I was indoors because there was a closed stillness to the atmosphere, but I was having a difficult time making out the ceiling.  I knew I wasn’t looking at the sky, and yet it had a thick, cloudy look to it.  I sat up slowly and tried to remember where I was and why I was on the ground.  My current surroundings weren’t jogging any memories.

I was in the middle of a semicircular stone dais, which was partially enclosed by an elegantly turned balustrade the color of creamy alabaster.  The railing was thick and substantial, but somehow managed to retain an ethereal quality.  It ran around the circular portion of the platform, leaving the straight face open for the steps.  A young man with blonde hair and a slim athletic build was sitting on the balustrade, where it ended at the stairs, kicking his dangling heels against the stone.  Thap, thap.  Thap, thap.  Thap, thap.  He was looking at me with a pleasant expression and didn’t appear to be distressed in the least about being in such an unusual location.  Well, maybe it wasn’t so unusual for him.

“Hi.”

I looked at him quizzically.  “Uh…hi.”

His thin lipped smile was slightly crooked, giving him a quirky, mildly amused expression, as if he knew something I didn’t.  He looked like he was in his early twenties, his face on the narrow side, with dark blonde hair that was probably cut using one of the lowest electric clipper settings.  The short hair had the effect of accentuating his high cheekbones and strong brow.  It was, all together, a nice face, a face that belonged next door, a face that any young woman might dream of looking into.

I stood up to get a better look at my surroundings.  Unfortunately, standing up didn’t provide me with any more information than I already had.  The walls, if you could call them walls, were a shade or two darker than the ceiling, with the same nebulous aspect, making them seem both near and far away.  The ground surrounding the dais was pale brown, but looked too smooth to be packed dirt.  It joined with the walls some indeterminate distance away.  There was nothing else to see.

Maybe the blonde knew something about this place.

I walked over to perch myself on the other end of the balustrade, directly opposite him.  The eight foot opening for the steps gaped between us, but it didn't prevent normal conversation.  He regarded me with the same open expression that I encountered when I first awoke.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as I settled myself on the wide railing.  My legs dangled, matching his, and I leaned back casually, using my arms to support myself in a slight reclining position.

“I feel…fine, I guess.  I’m just not sure where I am.  Do you know how I got here?”  I felt incredibly calm.  It hadn’t occurred to me that I should be scared or worried.  Here I was in a really strange place, with no memory of how or why I was there, facing a complete stranger, and yet I felt completely at ease.  I wasn’t even concerned by the thought that I should be more concerned.  Weird.

“I’m not sure.  I woke up here a little before you did, I think.  I didn’t notice how you arrived.”  Blonde lashes that were slightly darker than his hair framed his sincere, wide blue eyes.  He regarded me closely.  “You’re here to help me though.”

“Help you?  What do you mean?  What do you need help with?”

“I’m supposed to go somewhere, but I can’t get there from here.  For now, I’m stuck.”

I laughed.  “What makes you think I’m not stuck too?  I take it you’ve tried looking for the way out.”

“I don’t need to look.”  His eyes shifted thoughtfully.  “I just know.  I can't leave.”

A slight change in the illumination level made me look out past him toward the distant walls.  It looked like it was getting darker.  The walls seemed to be a darker grey, and the ceiling was now the color of storm clouds.

I shifted my attention back toward the blonde.  “Does it seem darker to you?”

“You’ll be leaving soon.”  He regarded me with knowing eyes.

The shift in conversation made me take pause.  “What?  What are you talking about?”

He nodded toward the horizon, and I followed his gaze.  As the walls grew darker, they appeared to be closing in on us.  The area surrounding the dais was gradually being cast in shadow, twilight swallowing its brown color.  I watched the leading edge of darkness creeping steadily closer, staring with a mixture of fascination and dread until the gloom licked the steps leading to the dais.  We were now standing on a small island in the middle of a shadowy ocean.

“Come on!”  I jumped down from the railing.  I grabbed his arm to get him moving, and we hurried to the center of the platform.

I quickly looked at his face and then back at the approaching darkness.  “What’s happening?”  I was breathless, my former calm evaporating.  The advancing darkness sucked away my composure, leaving me feeling helpless and afraid.

“Don’t worry.  You’re going back now.”  He gave me a sad smile.  “But you’re taking some of me with you.”

Again, I momentarily stared silently at the young man’s face and considered his strange statement.  “What?  Who are you?  What is going on?”

He looked at me fixedly, apparently unconcerned about the darkness, and touched my cheek.  “I’m Jason.  Jason Warner.”

With his touch, a warm, feather light essence caressed my mind, soothing my fears with its gentle touch and leaving behind a profound joy that was tempered by the merest hint of regret.  Dumbfounded, I stared into his eyes as the darkness washed over us.  I felt strange and at peace.

It was dark, and I was floating.  I heard my name and it sounded tinny, like someone was speaking to me through a can and string.  I ignored it.  Again, my name was spoken, this time a bit louder and more insistently.  A concerned tone was apparent.  I knew that I should recognize the voice, but I couldn’t quite place it.  I didn’t want to anyway.  My dark cocoon was warm and comfortable.  I tried to disregard the voice, but the darkness receded.  I felt the weight of my body, once again lying prone on a hard surface.  My hand was resting on my cheek, and I remembered, with a sudden jolt of understanding, my strange meeting with Jason and the events that preceded it.

I covered my face with both hands and fought for composure.  I remembered what led up to my encounter with Jason and realized that he was dead.  He had been a victim of a crazed warlock and a pent demon, and his soul was trapped within his bones, unable to reach Heaven.  I knew these things because Jason was a part of me.  His memories permeated my mind and touched my soul, a lingering psychic embrace.

I realized that Vince had been the one calling my name.  Now that it was clear that I was awake, he asked me if I was okay.

I nodded and focused tightly on reigning in my emotions before I lost it.  I did not want him or any of the other detectives to see me emotionally compromised.

After a moment, I sat up, absently noting that I was on the front porch of the abandoned farmhouse.  It was a purely self-conscious gesture, but I smoothed my hair and tucked it behind my ears as I forced myself to take a deep breath.

When I was brave enough to look up, I found myself staring into Vince’s troubled face.

“Lire…” he started and then hesitated.

He was lost for words.  It seemed that my magical mumbo jumbo had stumped him yet again.  The thought made me smile weakly, and his features loosened into an expression of relief.  He reached out tentatively, maybe to brush my tangled hair out of my face or give my arm a squeeze, but a voice boomed nearby, “Vanelli!  Don’t touch her!  Are you crazy?”

His eyes filled with doubt, and he drew his hand away.  I looked down to hide the hurt that was probably raw on my face, but some of it must have shown because his hand wavered mid way between his body and mine.  I continued to lok at my lap, biting back the tears that were threatening to return, and jumped noticeably when Vince snapped, “Kopeky, go find something constructive to do!”

I heard a muttered obscenity and turned to see the heavyset deputy standing at the front of the farmhouse.  Kopeky looked at me nervously from the front porch steps, but remained quiet.  After a few moments under Vince’s angry glare, he walked away, shaking his head and muttering irritably.

I looked around the porch and noticed that Vince’s jacket was folded a few feet away from me, where it must have been placed under my head.  “Where’s Red?”

“Right there.”  He pointed toward the wall of the house behind me, and I saw my purse.

I was instantly relieved.  “Thank you…but, weren’t you afraid of getting zapped?”

He gave me a condescending look that was tempered with a wry smile.  “I’m not that stupid.  If I thought he’d zap me, I’d have left him down there on his own.”  He paused.  “He told me that I was safe from the spells if he stayed concealed inside your purse.  And he made sure I wore gloves.  He was pretty pissed at me for giving you a hard time.  He said you’d never have touched the bone if it weren’t for me.  He told me why bones are so…challenging.”

It wasn't exactly an apology, but his actions spoke louder than words.  He carried me all the way up the hill and put his jacket under my head.  Yup, he was definitely feeling sorry.  But let's face it, if it weren't for the gloves, I'd probably still be down there, lying in the dirt.

“What did Red tell you?”

Vince squirmed a little.  I don’t think he expected a pop quiz.  “He said that bones give off more psychic energy than a live person.  Something about the soul providing a barrier of some kind when we’re alive.  After someone dies, you get the full dose of memories because there’s no soul to interfere.”

I nodded.

“So, I guess I just have a stronger barrier than most normal people.”  He was obviously still thinking about our close call down at the crime scene.

“Maybe.  I don’t know.  I’ve never encountered anyone I couldn’t read.”  I amended, “Well, never anyone who wasn’t a clairvoyant.  And I don’t know whether your psychic shield, or whatever it is, will hold up to prolonged exposure or not.  Do psychics run in your family?”

He answered quickly and severely.  “No.”  The response was a little too quick, but I let it go.  It seemed to be a sore spot, and I didn't want to yank his chain.  Maybe he wasn't all that bad.  He still had psi-phobic issues and I wouldn't choose him as my desert island pal, but I could probably handle working with him occasionally.

I glanced in the direction of the murder scene, through the rungs of the porch railing.  “Oh, thanks for lugging me back up the hill.”

“Sure.  I wanted to call an ambulance, but Red talked me out of it.  He said that if you didn’t wake up after we finished wrapping up the site, I should take you to the psi-ward at Swedish Medical Center.  He assured me that your life wasn’t immediately in danger.”

I nodded.  As long as I didn't cause myself injury by hitting my head, then the main health risk was not being able to eat or drink.  Most psychically-induced comas lasted only a day or two, but some had been known to go longer.  It all depended upon the psychic trauma inflicted.  My longest was three days, back before my powers were totally developed.

I rubbed my head, checking for possible sore spots, and was relieved not to find any.  “o how long have I been out?”

He checked his watch.  “About twenty minutes.”

I leaned over toward the house and grabbed my purse.  When I opened it, Red was standing in the inside pocket, looking at me expectantly.  I smiled at him sheepishly.  “Hi, Red.  Thanks for helping Vince look after me.”

He shrugged.  “It was nothing.  You’re awake earlier than I anticipated.  I expected that the detective was going to have to drive you to the hospital.”

“The day’s just been full of surprises.  I would have been out longer, but I didn’t get a full dose.”  I pulled out my gloves and slipped them back on.

Red cocked his head to the side.  His stuffed animal face didn’t promote a wide range of expressions, but Red managed to give me a knowing look.  “Tell me.”

I told them about my strange dream encounter with Jason and belief that Jason’s soul was trapped in the bones, which was why I didn’t get the entirety of his psychic essence.  Somehow I made it through without crying—not an insignificant feat.

“You knew the bones contained his soul, didn’t you?” I asked Red.

“I detected the confinement spell, but I had no way of knowing where the soul was trapped.  I assumed that Paimon took it as payment.  Apparently Jason’s soul was not compromised by evil, so the demon was barred from absorbing it.  Paimon trapped Jason's soul in the bones instead, probably out of spite.”

“How can we release his soul?” I asked with a lump in my throat.  Jason was right.  I was determined to help him, whatever it took.

“A necromancer should be able to free it.  When I was alive, I could have done it.  It is much easier to release a soul than it is to trap one.”

“Why?” Vince asked.

“Because it is almost impossible to trap a person’s soul without their express consent.  Paimon is able to do so because it is an extremely powerful demon that has the ability to make anyone defenseless to magic.  However, Paimon can only absorb the souls that are heavily tainted or those he can trick into becoming enslaved.  Apparently Jason couldn’t be tricked.  Since Paimon couldn’t take Jason’s soul back to hell, it trapped his soul on earth instead.”

I sat forward to give Vince a direct look.  “When you contact Jason’s parents, please let them know about Jason's soul.  If they need a reference for a necromancer, I can get them one.  This is important to me.  And to Jason, for that matter.  Have them call me if they want to know about my encounter with Jason.  It might bring them a measure of peace, and I really don’t mind speaking with them.”

His brows formed a dubious line while he briefly studied me.  “I can tell them that you had some sort of psychic experience with his remains, but I won't tell them that his soul is trapped as though it were fact.”  His features resolved into a serious, unswerving expression.  “Sorry, but that's way out of my comfort zone.”

I closed my eyes and sighed.  It was a sad, defeated sound.  I hated hearing myself make it.  “Fine.”

After a moment of silence, he asked, “Did you get anything else from your reading that might help us?”  He grabbed his jacket from the floor and removed a small notebook and pen from one of the outside pockets.

I suppressed an urge to say something childish about him not believing me anyway, so what was the point.  Instead, I nodded sharply, swallowed hard and took another deep breath.  I wasn’t really up to talking about it yet, but I knew it was necessary.  Untiow, I had managed to avoid dwelling on the memories that Jason left with me.  They were waiting just like all recollections, quietly in the recesses of my mind, until I chose to remember them.  I know it sounds strange, but my personal memories are not any different in quality from my psychically acquired ones.  Yet, somehow I know which ones are mine and which ones belong to someone else.  I’ve been asked how I am able to do this, without getting the recollections mixed up.  The truth is I don’t know.  It's magic.

I closed my eyes and fully immersed myself in Jason’s final moments.  Normally, I keep some sense of my own body when faced with reliving such traumatic events.  It helps reduce their emotional impact.  This time, however, I experienced them full force, in order to glean every possible detail.

“On January the 12th, I went to a lunch meeting with a woman I met in an on-line chat group.  Her name is Helen Wilkensen.  She’s my age and also a telekinetic, so we have something in common.  We corresponded for a few weeks before we finally decided to go out.  We arranged to meet at the Chili’s restaurant in Issaquah because that was the half-way point between our homes.  Helen lives in Fall City with her parents, but I know she’s hoping to move out on her own soon.

“I got to the Chili’s a few minutes early and waited for Helen before getting a table, but she never showed up.  After twenty minutes, I finally left my name with the hostess and sat down.  I had lunch and then left the restaurant at around two o’clock.  After all of our chats and e-mails, I was pretty surprised that Helen stood me up.

“I walked to my car, which was parked two aisles down at the back side of the restaurant.  There was a white van parked close on the driver’s side.  It pissed me off because I was worried that they put a ding in the side of my car.  When I turned sideways to get to my car door, the sliding door on the van opened and someone pulled me inside.  They put something over my mouth.  That’s the last thing I remember, until ”  My eyes flew open in terror, and I choked back a scream by taking in a long raking gulp of air.

“Oh God!”  I slapped both hands across my mouth to halt any further outburst.  Vince looked at me with a startled expression.

“You okay?”

I released my hands from my mouth, absently moving them to clutch the purse that was threatening to roll off of my lap.  Vince was leaning toward me slightly.  I didn’t want Red to tumble out and zap him by accident.  I also wanted Red close to me.  I needed his comfort.  “Yeah.”  I inhaled deeply and nodded.  “I'm fine.”

He sat back, regarding me with a slightly doubtful expression.  “Okay.”

When Vince moved out of the way, Red jumped out of my purse and scrambled up my arm to perch on my shoulder.  My hand hovered under him, in case he slipped, but he didn’t.  He reached my shoulder, and I immediately pressed him gently against my face, closing my eyes and breathing deeply.  He smelled like home, and his soft, cuddly body gave me some much-needed consolation.  Again, Vince's earlier comment about a grown woman having a teddy bear floated into my thoughts, but I refused to feel self-conscious.  What Jason went through was horrific.  I deserved to be soothed, dammit.

Red's furry arms gently patted my face in our version of a hug.  I murmured a heartfelt thank you before letting him go.  He sat down on my shoulder, holding on to my hair for support, legs dangling toward the ground.

“Lire, I can see this is upsetting.  I certainly don’t want to make it worse, but…” His voice trai off, and his hands gestured helplessly.

“It’s okay, Vince.  I’ll get through it.”

After I took a brief moment to collect myself, I decided to proceed with a little more sense of my own persona.  I needed a buffer from Jason's emotional turmoil, but I made sure that I didn't remove myself to the extent that important details escaped my attention.

“Okay.  When Jason woke up, he was lying down on the ground in an area surrounded by trees and bushes with his hands and feet tied.  He heard a woman crying, not too far away.  She was also tied up but, uh, unlike him, completely naked.”  I bit my lip self-consciously.  “Uh, and not only that…she was, um, well…she was drop dead gorgeous.  She was the most beautiful woman Jason had ever seen, and he was captivated.”

I regarded the detective with a plaintive expression.  “But it was a lie, Vince!  A lie!  The beautiful woman…it was all just a disguise.  The woman was the demon!”  I set my jaw, determined to get through the discussion without falling apart.  “That's what demons do, you know.  They are masters of deception and persuasion.  But, what they really are…is unimaginable.  They are every nightmare you've ever had, every terrible thing you've ever witnessed, all the horrors you've heard about—all of that, and none of that.  A demon is truly indescribable because it manifests itself with whatever burdens your soul.  What Jason saw, what he experienced…”  I shook my head.  “I can only say that it was hideous and terrifying and…just…just wrong.”  I took a deep breath and then shrugged.  “It threatened him.  Told him all the terrible things it was going to do…unless he surrendered to it.  Surrendered his soul.”

I hugged myself tightly and choked back the sobs that wanted to surge past my lips.  Even though I had pulled myself out of Jason’s recollections, the memories were indelible and weighed heavily on my spirit.  A fine nervous tremor that was hardly noticeable at first, now affected my entire body.  My teeth began chattering uncontrollably from the unwelcome trembling, and it was impossible to continue speaking.  To keep my clacking teeth from making so much noise, I clenched them together, but the sound of my shaking breath was almost as loud.  I wrapped my arms around myself, even though I wasn't cold.

I shrugged angrily and rolled my eyes in frustration.  “S-s-sorry.”

It didn't matter that my bodily reaction was understandable—Jason's memories were undoubtedly the worst I had ever experienced—but I was annoyed and disappointed that my body had betrayed me.  I prided myself on being able to handle any reading.  Now, I was an emotional basket-case.

Vince got up quickly.  “I’ll be right back.”

When he returned, he was carrying a royal blue wool blanket that he draped over my shoulders, being careful not to come close to Red or put the blanket against bare skin.  He reclaimed his seat across from me while I pulled the ends of the blanket over my arms and tried to calm down.  Even though I was privately angry with myself, I resolved to not take it out on Vince.  Getting the blanket was a sweet gesture.  I felt a little guilty for thinking so poorly of him earlier in the day.

“Thuh-thanks.”

He looked at me sympathetically.  “I’m sorry this is so difficult.”

I tried to smile reassuringly and told him through clenched teeth, “That’s ok-kay.  It’s my juh-job, remember?  Besides, how am I suh-suh-posed to gloat later if I don’t help you suh-solve this?”

He laughed quietly.  “Yes, that’s true.  I wouldn’t want you to miss out on that.”

I looked down because I was feeling self-conscious.

“Can I ask you a few questions while you warm up?”

“Shh-sure.”  I didn’t bother to tell him that I wasn’t cold.  I was shaking because I was terrified, but I was sure he knew that.

He picked up his notebook and pen from the porch, where he had set them down earlier.  “Did Jason see who pulled him into the van?”

I shook my head sharply.  “Nuh-no.”

“Did he notice the van’s license plate, or anything unusual about it?”

I thought back to the van.  “He dih-didn’t look at the license puh-plate.  He was more foh-focused on finding duh-door dents on his car.  The van was one of the bih-big full size ones—nuh-not a minivan—and it looked fairly new.  That’s all I cah-can think of—I already told you that it was white.”

Vince made a few notes on the pad, looking all the part of a determined detective.  “This Helen Wilkensen, did he ever speak with her on the telephone?”

I made the effort to relax my body.  The chattering seemed worse when I tensed up.  I closed my eyes and recalled Jason’s memories.  “No.  I corresponded with her in chuh-chat groups and on e-mail.  We—” I stopped abruptly and opened my eyes.  “Suh-sorry.  Uh, they exchanged photos on-line.  She has bruh-brown, straight hair, shoulder length, and brown eyes.  Jason thought she was pretty.  The photo will be in an e-mail from her on his computer.  You’ll be able to fuh-find the other e-mails as well, I’d imagine.”

Vince was looking at me with a strange expression.  I’d say he was spooked, except that wasn’t quite it.  A little uneasy maybe.

“Do you always do that?”  He was holding his pen poised an inch or two above the small, spiral bound notebook and then lowered it slowly.  “You know, like you were doing earlier, talk in the first person as though it really happened to you.”

I thought about it.  “Yeah, I guess so.  Sometimes it’s huh-hard not to.”

“So you have all his memories now?  Like having another person in your head?”

“In a way, I guess.  I don't have all of his memories, but there are many.”  My breath hitched again.  As though my heavy heart wasn’t enough of a clue, my body continued to remind me of my recent experience.

“Interesting.”  He shook his head, once again readying his notebook.  “Do you know why they never spoke on the phone?”

“No.  I get the sense that he assumed she was being careful.”  I could feel that my diaphragm had relaxed because I wasn’t hitching as much and it was easier to talk normally.

“You said that he was a telekinetic.  That’s someone who can move objects without touching them, right?”

I tipped my head to the side slightly.  “Yes, sort of.  There are three forms of telekinesis.  A type one telekinetic can move only inanimate objects.  A type two can move only animate objects, you know, people, animals, bugs, stuff that’s alive.  A type three can manipulate both animate and inanimate.  Jason was a type three.  Helen said in one of their chat sessions that she was a type two.”

Vince paused to write, muttering something about “types” under his breath.  When he was done, he asked, “Can you tell me Jason’s address?”

“Mmmm.  That’s more difficult.  Let me think for a minute.”  Keeping my mind off of the more emotional memories had helped to calm my shivers—the chattering was virtually gone.  I closed my eyes in centration.  “I can’t get an exact address; just that he lived in Kirkland, in a condo.”  Before he could ask why, I opened my eyes and answered, “I don’t get every stitch of a person’s memories, like a computer download or something.  I mainly get moments that have some type of emotional or physical significance, so when it comes to the more mundane experiences, it’s a bit of a crap shoot.”

“Ah.  Okay.  Uh, did Jason have any enemies or shady acquaintances in his life, who might be involved in this?”  Vince was pulling at straws, but I humored him.  It doesn’t hurt to ask.

As I thought about it, my eyes drifted to the side.  “No.  I don’t have any memories of anyone who gave him bad vibes or anything.  He was a nice guy.  He didn’t have any enemies that he knew of.”

“Did Jason get a look at the warlock?”

“Yes, but the warlock was wearing a cloak and mask.  He looked to be about six feet tall with a large frame.  The cloak covered up his whole body, so I have no way of knowing whether he was fit or not.”

“What kind of mask?  What did it look like?”

I put the warlock in my mind and tried to focus on Jason's impressions.  “It was black.  The hood of the cloak covered his head and cast a shadow over his face, but I think it was just a black handkerchief or bandana.”  I shrugged.  “The cloak was black too and looked like it was made from a heavy material.  Honestly, it was pretty theatrical looking, like something you might wear to a costume party.”

Vince made some more notes and then asked, “Is there anything else in Jason’s memories that might help us?”

I quickly recalled the traumatic events that led to Jason’s death.  “No, I can’t think of anything.  But none of the memories conflict with the theory I outlined earlier.  The demon attempted to terrify Jason into surrendering his soul, but its tactics failed.  Jason was Catholic, maybe a bit on the liberal side, but he was still a true believer and knew enough to resist the demon’s persuasions.  He was very brave.”  I paused briefly to corral my emotions.  “The warlock informed Jason that he had made a grave mistake and then chloroformed him.  That’s it.  Jason never woke up again.”

“How do you know it was chloroform?”

I looked surprised.  “Oh.  I guess I just assumed that's what was on the cloth.  He forced it over Jason's mouth and nose.  Jason struggled against it, but whatever was on the handkerchief worked really quickly.”

Vince looked at me gravely and nodded, apparently satisfied by my response.  He closed his notebook and retrieved a business card from his pocket.  “If you think of anything else, let me know.”  He handed me his card after writing something on it.  “My home and cell numbers are on the back.  Call me anytime.”

“Okay.”  I shook myself as if that simple gesture would clear my mind of the distressing memories.  I knew it was purely psychological, but it seemed to help.  I looked around.  “So, can we go now?  I had two coffees this morning.  I really have to hit a bathroom before I burst.”  I smiled sheepishly.

He laughed.  “Yeah.  We can go.  Kopeky and Marshall are here to close up the site.  I can talk to the medical examiner later.”

Vince was nice enough to stop at the closest gas station, which spared me from complaining about every bump in the road during our return trip.  Red reclaimed his position on the dashboard.  He looked very comfortable, with his head leaning back against the window strut and arms folded across his amply stuffed tummy.

W were back on I90, heading toward downtown, when Vince broke the relaxed silence.  “What did you mean earlier, when you said that maybe there was hope for you after you didn’t read anything from me?  I’d think that would be a bad thing in your business.”

I snorted.  “Right.  If I were in the business of reading people, I guess it would be a bad thing.”

Vince looked confused.  “I don’t understand.  Why would it be considered good if there are people you can’t read?”

I hunched slightly toward the passenger door window and stared out at the passing scenery.  I wasn’t comfortable with the discussion.  Vince didn’t realize it, but he was treading on a very personal subject.  It wasn’t really his fault.  Most people have very little understanding about what it's like to be a clairvoyant.  They have never stopped to consider that almost everything they come in contact with has been touched by human hands.  They never think about what it would be like to live in a world where practically everything they touch or eat will bring on visions and nightmares.  Think about it.  What are you going to wear, eat, brush your teeth with, sleep on?  But the one thing I’ve always found most surprising is that people don’t think about the most obvious drawback—the social aspect.  It simply never occurs to them that a clairvoyant can’t touch another person with any exposed part of their body, not just their hands.  No casual touching, no holding hands, no hugging, no kissing, no…you know.

I shrugged off my discomfort.  “Well  I suppose that's a bit of a loaded question.”

“Sorry.  I can see that.”  He glanced at me.  “I guess I don't know why.”

He wasn't sorry enough to drop it, but at least he was being polite.  I let the silence lengthen for a moment before answering.  “Uh, let’s just say that knowing that it’s possible for a normal to block my magic, gives me hope that I might find Prince Charming some day.”

I let him puzzle over my response and turned toward the scenery again.  Lake Washington was spread out around us, sparkling brightly in the rare winter sun, and I spotted several boats taking advantage of the clement if slightly breezy day.  Two aluminum skiffs were floating close to the low-lying Lacy V. Murrow Bridge, but we were moving too quickly for me to peer down inside them.  It seemed to me that the vibration from all the cars would drive away the fish, but what did I know?  I’d never gone fishing in my life, although, it was one of the only animals I could eat without too many ill effects.

“What does not being able to read someone have anything to do with finding your dream guy?”

Drat.  My desire to avoid the discussion had only increased his curiosity and drew more attention to the sad state of my love life.  I sighed.  “Okay, I was trying to be circumspect, but I'll spell it out for you.  I can’t touch someone—well, a regular someone—without learning a lot about them.  And when I mean a lot, I mean everything.  When I touch someone, I pick up all they happen to be thinking about—about me, about their life, about the weather…whatever is on their mind.  And it’s generally a bad thing in a relationship to know everything your partner is thinking.  For reasons I can’t fathom, some people seem to think that sounds romantic.  You’re so in love, you think you want to know everything about that person, but in reality it doesn’t work.  In the real world, everyone needs their privacy, even the ones you love and who love you back.”

He looked thoughtful and then shrugged.  “I assumed that if you were prepared for it, you could control your magic and ignore someone’s…energy if you needed to.”

I shook my head.  “It doesn’t work that way.  I don’t actually have any control over my magic.  I can control the psychic energy that my magic pulls in to my mind, and yes, if I’m ready for it, I can push the stream back out without experiencing much of it.  But it takes a lot of effort and only works for the initial dose.  The energy I get from extended touching will breach my shield within a short time.”  I added, for further clarity, “And it’s all touching—not just with my hands.  Understand?”

His eyebrows shot up, conveying an expression of sudden understanding.  “Got it.”  He paused to consider, and his head tilted slightly.  “What about another clairvoyant.  You made some comment about not getting a reading from another psychic.  Does the magic cancel each other out?”

I looked at him sharply.  “Very perceptive detective.  Actually, yes, that works to some degree, but only if the two psychics are of relatively equal power.  And our powers can change over time, so…so, sometimes that doesn’t work out for the long term.”

The pain in my voice was readily apparent.  When Vince looked over at me, I had to struggle to keep it from showing on my face as well.  Yes, I was well acquainted with that particular theory.

Vince obviously noticed my unhappiness, but didn’t have the sense to let it go.  “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

“Yeah, well…life’s a bitch.”

I stared hard at the road through the windshield, but after a moment my gaze diverted toward Red.  He cocked his head slightly.  “'Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.”

The subject of my social life was not a new one for Red and me, and we frequently traded that verse with each other at some point during our conversations.  It had become a joke of sorts between us.  My response to this famous phrase was usually something like, “What bone-head thought that one up?”  This time, however, I simply said, “Touché, Red.  Touché.”  I guess Jason's memories had left me feeling a bit on the glum side.

Most of the time, I thought that Tennyson's verse applied more to Red’s past life than to my current life because all of his loves are truly lost forever.  They are long since dead, but since he no longer inhabits a human body, he is free from human desires.  Red is able to reminisce about his past relationships, without remorse or sorrow that he will never again feel the warmth of a lover’s embrace or the thrill of a passionate kiss.  He understands my pain but is removed from it at the same time.  On occasion, it was something I almost envied.

After several minutes, Vince broke the silence.  “So why did you want to know whether psychics run in my family?”

I shot him a look of complete exasperation.  “You just can’t give it a rest, can you?”

He shrugged.  “No, not when the subject concerns me.”

I laughed.  “Okay.  You have a point.  The reason I asked about your family is because magic tends to run in families.  Sometimes it skips generations, and it’s not uncommon for several members of the same family to exhibit some type of psychic ability.  If someone in your family had a talent, then that could possibly explain your resistance to my magic.  But since you don’t know of any psychic family lineage, then I guess it means that it is possible for normals to block my power.  If that’s really true, then it’s absolutely unprecedented.  I’ve never heard of such a thing.”  I shook my head.  “Of course, most clairvoyants probably haven’t gone out of their way to find out, so maybe it’s more common than anyone evthought.  I just don’t know…”

There was another way he could be blocking my magic, but I didn’t bring it up because I knew it didn’t apply to him.  He wasn’t a vampire.

“I see.  Thanks.”

I decided to change the subject, in order to derail Vince’s one-track mind.  “So, have you been with the Chiliquitham PD for long?”

He nodded.  “Yep.  They hired me out of the Academy, about ten years ago now.”

“Ah.  Why Chiliquitham?  Did you grow up around here?”

“No.  I grew up in Wenatchee, and, no, I didn’t grow up on an orchard.”

I laughed.  “I guess that’s the logical question when you’re from apple country.”

“What about you.  Where did you grow up?”

“Until I was five, I lived with my parents, just south of San Francisco, in a city called Hillsborough.  When I was ready for kindergarten, I went to live at Coventry Academy.  My parents divorced a few years after, and my father bought a house on Queen Anne Hill.  I stayed with him during school holidays and my summer vacations.”

“Where do you live now?”

“Downtown, not too far from Sotheby’s,” I said.  “I take it you live in Chiliquitham.”

“Yes, but I went to UW.”  Vince pronounced it 'you-dub', like a local.  “And I lived near Pioneer Square for a while before I went to the Academy.”

“Do you miss it?  Living in the city, I mean.”

“Not too much.  I’m a country boy at heart, I guess.  When I need my city fix, I have friends who live in town.  I usually get down there at least once a week.”

I nodded.

“Hey, will you bite my head off if I ask you another personal question?”

I narrowed my eyes at him.  “As long as it isn’t about my love life…no.”

Vince laughed.  “Fair enough.”  He paused for a moment.  His brows drew together slightly while he formulated his question.  “I was just wondering how you survive day to day.  Until I met you, I’d never really considered what it must be like to be a clairvoyant.  I assumed that you had more control over your magic, or that it was just your hands you had to worry about.”  He shrugged and then glanced at me with a quirked smile before adding, “But I’m sure you probably get this question all the time from clueless guys like me.”

I cringed and looked down at my hands.  “I’m sorry that I said you were clueless.”  I tried not to squirm in my seat and was glad that Vince had to keep his eyes mostly on the road.  “Unless you knew someone with the gift, there was no way for you to know all my limitations.  I should have told you the ground rules ahead of time.”  Did I just apologize to the detective?  Boy, I must be more dazed than I thought.

“Nah, I deserved it.  I was pushing you.”  He glanced at me.  “So, if it’s not too personal, how do you get by?  I’d think that just about everything you need to live would be touched somewhere down the line by human hands.  How do you get around that?”

“There are ways.  Back fifteen or twenty years ago, I was mostly out of luck or my parents had to pay a fortune for psychically clean products.  Nowadays though, a lot of companies have gotten on the psi-free bandwagon.  Believe it or not, there are companies that make psi-free clothing, shampoo, cosmetics, sheets, you name it.  If you can think of it, there’s probably a way to get it made from psi-free materials.”

Henodded.  “The psi-free craze.  That's for real?  I thought it was just a marketing gimmick.”

“Nope.  It's the real deal.”  I amended, “Well, most of them are.  I still have to be careful and only buy from trustworthy companies.”

“What about your home?  Can you even get building materials that are psi-free?”  He seemed genuinely interested and almost chatty.  For the first time, I felt like I was getting a glimpse of Vince the person, instead of Vanelli the terse detective.

“With a house or building, what you’re really talking about are the touchable surfaces—walls, counters, floors, you know.  Fortunately, psi-free products can be easily found for those; of course, they’re usually quite a bit more expensive.”  I leaned my head back into the seat and stared out at the road ahead of us.  “There really aren’t many things that I haven’t been able to find in a psi-free version.”  I rolled my head toward Vince and regarded his profile.  “As for my place, I live in a loft that I gutted and fitted out with the appropriate products.  It’s not hard to build psi-free, but it's not cheap either.”

He regarded me for a second and then turned back to the road.  “What about the people who can’t afford it.  What do they do?”

“They do the best they can.  They can cover their furniture with psi-free fabric, and most day-to-day products aren't prohibitively expensive.  They just have to be careful around the other surfaces in their house.  It’s possible to get by—it’s just not as comfortable.”  I stifled a yawn and snuggled into the seat.  “The weaker clairvoyants, the ones who can’t shield themselves from even the most innocuous psychic touch, usually end up taking refuge in one of the government sponsored clean centers.”

“The weakest clairvoyants?  I thought the very strongest of you had to live in the clean shelters.”

“Nope.  But I can understand why you’d think that.  The strength of a clairvoyant is measured by how capable they are at maintaining their psychic shield, not by how much information they can pry from a person or object.  If you can’t even protect yourself from the smallest of psychic incursions, then living on the outside becomes an exercise in torture.  Of course, there are always exceptions.  Some weaker clairvoyants are able to live on the outside because they can handle the frequent psychic exposures better than others.  I guess the reverse is probably true as well.  Even a strong clairvoyant, with exceptional shield control, will every now and then suffer a breach.  If you don’t have the personality to deal with it, then a clean-room is the only option.”

I curled my knees toward Vince, turning myself in the seat.  The day’s trials were weighing heavily on my body.  The sun beating on my legs, the cozy comfort of the interior and the soothing road vibrations had left my body feeling languid and boneless.  I slouched down, so that I could lay my cheek against the seat, using my gloved hand as a pillow and psychic buffer, and still look at Vince.  I watched as he struggled to unbutton and roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt, revealing nicely muscled forearms sprinkled with a fine layer of straight, dark body hairs.  My eyes felt heavy, and I didn’t struggle to keep them open.

Vince asked Red about how he managed to stay so clean after sliding his furry feet through the dirt at the crime scene, and Red explained that his body was spelled to be impervious to wear and tear.  Even with sleep tugging at my mind, I smiled when he made a crack about needing that kind of spell for his dusty trousers.

I dozed on and off for the remaining twenty minutes of our drive back to the city until the car lurched fro side to side as it entered the Puget Pacific Building’s driveway.  Vince eased the car up to the parking ticket dispenser and unrolled his window to grab the protruding ticket.  When the gate went up, he drove the car into the waiting shadow of the parking garage.  The electric window rolled back up with a hum, sealing us off from the outside air and traffic noises.  I unfolded my legs into the passenger foot well and stretched myself contentedly while I made reluctant stirring noises.

“Have a good nap?”

“Mmuh-huh.”  I hid a huge yawn behind both hands.

“What level is your car on?”  Vince slowed as we approached the entry point to the lower garage levels.

“Level two.”

“Are you going to be okay to drive?”

“Yeah.”

He gave me a stern look, like he didn’t believe me.  I laughed.  “I’m fine, don’t worry.  Besides, you don’t want to be my chauffeur all day today, do you?”

He snorted.  “It wouldn’t be the worst job I’ve ever had, but, no.  I’ve got to get back to the station.  I can take you back to your place if you’re too tired to drive.”

I guess he was still feeling bad about the bone thing.  I smiled.  “I’m okay, really.  There’s my car.  The older, black Mercedes, on the right.  There.”  I pointed toward my car.

He pulled up and stopped, with the passenger window even with the rear of my car.  “It looks more like a tank.”

“It’s supposed to be a car, but you sure wouldn’t know it by the gas mileage.”  I dug into my purse searching for the keys.

He motioned toward the European stickers on the bumper and the narrow slot for the license plate.  “Is it imported?”

“Yeah.”  I shrugged.  “It’s another gift from my Dad—German government surplus.  Remember the serial sniper a few years ago that was killing magic users?  My Dad gave it to me around that time.  It’s armored.”  I shook my head.  “I don’t know why I still drive it.  The maintenance is horrific.  I’m too sentimental, I guess.”  I held out my hand to Red, and he jumped down from the dashboard.  I moved him toward my body and he hopped onto my shoulder, using my hair for support.

Vince raised his eyebrows.  “That’s some gift.”

I shrugged again.  “My Dad did his best to take care of me.”

The question formed on his face before he opened his mouth to ask it.  “Is your Dad still around?”

“No.  He died two years ago.”  I headed off any more questions by opening the car door.  “See you.  Let me know how things go with Jason’s parents.”  I gave him one last look and slid out of the car.  “Thanks for driving,” I mumbled and closed the door firmly without waiting for a reply.

I walked quickly to my car and was a little surprised that Vince didn’t immediately drive away.  As I opened the driver side door, I resisted the urge to look back at Vince.  I heard his car roar away when I was halfway into my seat.  The dark comfort of the interior made me relax almost immediately.  I locked the doors with a press of a button and then threw my head back against the padded headrest.  “What a day.”

“It’s been interesting, that much is certain.”  Red jumped off my shoulder and used my upper arm to slide into my lap.  I felt the light pitter-pats of his soft feet across my thighs as he deftly made his way to the center console.

I lolled my head to the side, so I could see him.  “I so do not want toack to the office.”

“Go home.  Jack won’t mind.”

“Yeah, right.”  I rolled my eyes and couldn’t suppress a snort.  “Jack would have two litters of puppies if I skipped out on my afternoon appointments, and you know it.”

Jack was only slightly less calm than a squirrel on speed but, in spite of his manic personality, always managed to acquire new clients and keep current ones happy.  If it weren’t for the fact that he was such a likeable guy, he would have driven me crazy years ago.

I sighed and stuck the keys into the ignition.  It was going to be a long day.

CHAPTER FIVE

I walked into the Supernatural Talent and Company office at ten after three.  That is to say, ten minutes late for my first afternoon appointment.  I had the foresight to call the office to tell Monica that I was on my way, so Jack wasn’t a complete basket case by the time I arrived.  He was, however, hovering near the lobby, talking to Monica and waiting to pounce on me as soon as I made an entrance.  I walked straight to my office, doing my best to ignore his anxious expression and eager gesture toward our front conference room.  His footsteps echoed softly on the carpet behind me, but I managed to reach my office before he caught up with me.

“Your three o’clock is in the front conference room,” he said, as if there was any chance I missed his gyrations in the lobby.

“I know, Jack.  I just wanted to put down my stuff and make a pot of coffee.”  I tried not to sound annoyed, but it was an effort.

“Mr. Gibson has been waiting for over ten minutes.”  His vivid blue eyes danced quickly between me and the direction of the conference room.  It was probably all he could do to not jump from foot to foot, like a terrier badly in need of a walk.

“Yes, Jack, I realize that, but I haven’t even had lunch yet, thanks to my wonderful field trip with the detective.  If you don’t want me keeling over on our client, I need something to keep me going.”

I put my purse on the makeshift window seat that I had created with two bookcases and a padded bench from Costco.  The sun was shining in through the slats in the aluminum blinds, and what I really wanted to do was lie down and take a nap in that enticing golden warmth.  Red climbed out of my purse and sat down near his tiny basket of books.  I spent a small fortune every month, buying books and other leisure items from the End of the Rainbow catalog.  They were one of several companies that specialized in Leprechaun and Pixie products.  The truth was I’d spend a lot more if it meant securing Red’s happiness.  For that, I’d do almost anything.

“I suggest that you listen to her, Jack.  She has already fainted once today.”

I shot Red a sour look as I hung my coat over the back of my chair.

Jack immediately looked at me, and I watched as his nervous annoyance quickly transformed into a look of puzzlement and concern.  “Is that true?  What happened?”  A look of realization passed over his face, and he paced back and forth in front of my desk.  “It was the police, wasn’t it?  Dammit!  I knew I should have said no.  I knew it!  But that detective was really persuasive, and you’ve told me several times that helping the police was important to you.”

I walked closer to Jack and held up my hand.  “Jack, it’s okay.  I’m glad you scheduled me with the police.  They really needed my help.  The only thing that you could have done differently was briefing them beforehand about my skills and what Iapable of reading.  I don’t think they realized that some items require much more time and energy to read.  They threw some significant evidence at me during the morning appointment.  Later on at the crime scene, they wanted me to read the victim’s bones.”

At this piece of information, Jack's eyes widened with shock.  I quickly interjected, “I know!  I know.  I should have said no to the bones, but I was stupid and read them anyway.  That wasn’t the best decision I’ve ever made, but I’m glad I did it.  We learned a lot from that reading, even though it knocked me for a loop.”

“What!  Are you out of your mind?  You’re lucky that you didn’t end up in a permanent coma.  What were you thinking?”

“She wasn’t,” Red concluded.

Jack had stopped pacing and was facing me.  He whapped the end of a ball point pen over the palm of his left hand and frowned at me.  The pen thing was one of Jack’s many nervous habits.  It made a dull slapping sound that was annoying after about three seconds.

I rolled my eyes and looked at Jack.  “Talk to Red, he’ll fill you in.  I’ll be right back.  I’m going to poke my head in with Ben and see if he wants some coffee.”

I walked toward the conference room and found Ben Gibson reading one of the magazines from our lobby coffee table.  His head was bent slightly forward, giving me a view of his slightly receding grey hair that he had slicked back from his face.  The neat furrows from his comb were frozen in place by whatever hair gel he had used earlier in the morning.  Ben was a bit over sixty, with a face that was still handsome despite the wrinkles and rugged complexion.

I stood framed in the doorway and leaned my left shoulder against the door jam.  “Hi, Ben.  Sorry I’m late.  If you don’t mind, I’m just making a fresh pot of coffee.  Would you like a cup?”

He smiled broadly, showing large straight teeth and a set of deep dimples on either side of his mouth.  He was even more striking when he smiled.  “Thank you, Lire.  Sure, I’ll join you in a cup.”

“Okey-doke.  I’ll be right back.”

When I got back to my office, I overheard Red, “—quite lucky that the soul was contained in the bones; otherwise, she’d probably have been in the hospital for weeks.”

Jack looked up with a grim expression as I entered the room.  I grabbed the empty coffee carafe.  “Jack, you want any?”  I wiggled the glass container at him.

“No.”  He shook is head and then remembered his manners.  “No thanks.”

I left the room again to wash and fill the decanter with water while Jack questioned Red about Jason’s bones.  When I returned, Jack was sitting in the straight-backed guest chair across from my desk, chewing on the end of his pen and bopping his heel against the floor.  He looked up and watched me as I set up the machine to brew the coffee.

Jack was unusually quiet, although far from still.  I don’t think he ever stopped fidgeting.  His brown hair needed to be cut, his usual generic male haircut had lost to a more messy style, although his bangs hadn't yet obscured his eyebrows.  He had one of those faces that would always look youthful, no matter what his age, and it was accented by startling blue eyes surrounded by thick, curled lashes.  A small mole on his chin drew attention to his wonderfully full lips.  In my book, Jack was quite attractive.  His muscular build added to the package, although his face was a bit too round and his nose too large to be considered male model perfect.  Not to mention the fact that he was only five-feet-six inches tall.  He was one of the few men I knew, who I managed to look down on.

Just because I appreciated Jack’s good looks, didn’t mean that I lusted after his body.  Quite the contrary.  It was just one of those mysterious chemistry things, I guess.  Of course, it also might have something to do with the fact that Jack’s constant high energy always left me feeling like I needed to pop a Xanax to settle my nerves.  But, Jack never gave me the impression that he was even remotely interested in me, which was a good thing, since he was my business partner.

“I’m thinking that we should reconsider our policy of working with the police at the drop of a hat, and maybe limit how many cases you’ll do a year.  I’m worried about you burning out, or, worse, landing yourself in a clean-room somewhere.”  Jack’s right knee bounced up and down at about a hundred miles an hour as he levered his heel up and down against the floor.  His pen was a chewed mess.  He absently wiped it off on his pants and started banging it against his bobbing thigh.  I had a strong desire to take his pen away and hold him down so he couldn’t move, but I resisted the urge and stayed in my chair.  Willpower at its best.

“Jack, I don’t think we need to go to that extreme after one bad day.  This was unusual, you know that.  I’ve been working with the police for how many years now?  Four, almost five?  And have I ever had a day like today?  No, I haven’t.  The thing that will help prevent this from happening again will be to make sure that my clients know my limits and to schedule the appropriate amount of time for the type of items I’ll be reading.”  I shrugged.  “Of course, I’m ultimately to blame.  I shouldn’t have let Vince needle me into reading the bones.  I should have scheduled it for when I’d be totally fresh, without any other appointments to worry about.”

“Or not done it at all.”  Jack shook his head disapprovingly.  His expression was dubious, but he finally sighed in resignation.  “All right.  Next time I’ll make sure they understand the rules.  If I’m not sure, I’ll check with you about how much time to schedule.”  He launched himself out of the chair.  “I’ll pass it on to Monica, since she’s the one who usually makes the appointments.”  On his way out, Jack leaned back into the room.  “Oh, and don’t keep Mr. Gibson waiting.  And let me know what happens with the bones and the victim’s family.”  He was gone before I had time to respond.

I rolled my eyes at Red and then quickly assembled a serving tray with two coffees, creamer and sugar and some oatmeal cookies.  Before heading to the conference room with the refreshments, I almost forgot to grab my notepad and camera, which I tucked under my arm and hung from my wrist, so I was spared a return trip.

As soon as I breached the conference room doorway, Ben jumped up to offer his help getting the tray to the table.  I didn’t need it, but I let him take the tray anyway, out of politeness.  Ben was born to a generation of men who were automatically courteous and never dreamed of getting past any bases on the first date.  Whether this last part was true, I honestly didn't know, but he was always so polite.  I closed the conference room door and took a seat near him at the table.  We indulged in some small talk as we sipped our coffees.  After a few minutes, the discussion turned toward the items that Ben needed authenticated.

Ben owned a small but extremely successful antiques shop near Queen Anne Hill.  Ever since Jack and I began our business, Ben had been coming in for weekly sessions, but I’d actually known him for years.  I used to frequent his shop in my teens when I stayed with my Dad during school vacations.  After Ben noticed me removing my gloves and deliberately touching items in his store, he aed if I would be interested in helping him appraise some of his merchandise.  At first, I think he was simply fascinated by my gift and curious about what information I was able to glean, but, soon enough, he realized the monetary benefit of a psychic reading.  He started out paying me two dollars per item, which I thought was such a coup at the time, especially since I was already surreptitiously touching things in his shop just for fun.

It didn’t take long for me to realize the implications of my gift and dream of starting the first paranormal business in Seattle.  To a certain extent, I owe Ben for my current success and happiness, and I have told him as much on several occasions.  He just laughs and says modestly that he just gave me a gentle nudge toward what I was destined to do—to keep our history alive.  Did I mention that Ben is also a hopeless romantic and history buff?  He’s a man after my own heart.  It's too bad that we were born a generation apart.  Or not, considering my togetherness issues.

I stood up and peeked inside the cardboard box that had been placed between us on the conference table.  There were several items wrapped in plastic bubble wrap, along with a half dozen smaller boxes perched on top of the pile.  A wooden cane with a gold handle, too large to fit inside, rested across the edges of the cardboard box.

“Oh boy, more jewelry,” I said when I noticed the small, hinged boxes.

“Have you been reading a lot of jewelry lately?”

“Not a lot, but I had one earlier at Sotheby's that was a doozy.”

“Really?  Tell me.”

He was thrilled to hear about my reading of the diamond ring, but his face showed something else too.  Regret maybe?  If it was, the emotion didn’t come across in his voice.  His tone was warm and enthusiastic as it always was when I told him about my more significant readings.  “Wow.  That must have been something.  I wish I could have been there to hear it first hand.”

I nodded.  “Veronica was quite pleased, especially since she thought her client was wasting money with a full reading.”

Ben stood with me and slowly began to remove items from the box.  After a moment, he paused and looked at me thoughtfully.  “You know…I’ve never told you this because I know how hard things are for you, but sometimes I really do envy your gift.”

“Holy cats!  Why?”

He chuckled at my flustered reaction.  “Well, when you come up with stories like that, my God!  I wish I could see what you see.  I know it causes you all manner of grief, but, for that, ah…for that, it almost seems worth it.”

“Well, you know better than most what I go through…so I know you’re not being cavalier.”  I cocked my head and pressed my lips together.  “Still, I don’t know if it’s worth it exactly, but there are moments.  That’s for sure.”

He stopped unpacking, put his hands on either side of the box and leaned forward to peer into my face.  “If you had the chance to give up your gift and live a normal life, would you do it?”

I regarded him seriously and considered his question.  “You know, there are days when I would say yes, without hesitation.”  I picked up my bright yellow coffee mug, my name emblazoned on the outside to prevent others from touching it, and clutched it between both hands.  “But being a clairvoyant is all I've ever known.  It’s who I am and how I make my living.  To be honest, I don’t know that I could voluntarily give it up, even though it complicates my life.”

“Sort of a love/hate relationship, I gather.”

Yeah.  You could say that.”  I sat down again and asked Ben for his first item.  I was tired of thinking deeply about my gift and having conversations that reminded me of the hopeless aspect of my love life.  Maybe it was denial, but I was perfectly happy cruising through life on autopilot, focusing on the day to day, and avoiding any deep introspection.

Amazingly, I made it through all of Ben’s objects without falling over.  Fortunately, Ben almost never bothered with a full reading on his merchandise; he only wanted to know the original owner or maker and a date, which isn’t nearly so taxing.  Occasionally Ben would request additional information if something unusual came up with the basic reading.  Today, none of his items called for any extra attention, but of course, the documentation process would end up taking longer than the readings.

Before Monica began advising new clients about the procedures, I occasionally had to deal with a ‘Type A’ personality getting bent out of shape because they weren’t going to get their appraisal right away.  Now that Monica was there to prepare the clients, I just had to deal with them being disappointed when the object didn’t measure up to their expectations.  Once, I had an antique gun dealer physically attack me because I didn’t confirm that his Colt .45 Peacemaker belonged to Jesse James.  Fortunately that session took place in the presence of the buyer, who helped restrain him.  Even with the buyer’s help, I still ended up with bruises on my arms where he grabbed and shook me.  Thank God I was wearing long sleeves on that day because I really didn’t need to know what he was thinking at the same time he assaulted me.  I had nightmares enough without that bit of colorful information dancing through my head.  Even though it was one of my favorites, I sent the blouse I had been wearing straight to Goodwill.

After all of Ben’s items had been repacked, I walked him toward the lobby and held the door while he carried the large box.  The gold-topped cane dangled from the edge of the box by its curved handle, and Ben kept his hand over the top of it, so it wouldn’t fall off.

“Thank you Ben.  I’ll see you next week, it’s my turn to come by the shop.”

“Sure enough.  I have several large pieces for you to examine.  One of them you’re going to love.”  He gave me a conspiratorial wink.

I laughed.  “Uh-oh.  I know what that means.  I guess I better remember my check book, huh?”

“Just in case, maybe just in case.  Okay, Lire.  See you later.  You take care now.”

After saying goodbye, I watched Ben turn to leave and then stepped back inside, letting the glass door swing shut by itself.  I was walking back toward my office when Monica caught my eye.  She waved me over by curling her finely manicured acrylic nails back and forth, instead of calling my name, because she was talking to a customer on the telephone.

I waited while Monica answered the customer’s questions and was surprised to see that she wasn’t wearing her usual cleavage-revealing attire.  Today, she was dressed only slightly more conservatively in a skin tight, lavender turtleneck sweater with what looked like a black leather skirt.  Her professionally highlighted blonde hair was pulled back into a rhinestone tension clip, with the exception of two loosely curled locks that framed her face.  She wasn’t exactly beautiful, but she was so expertly made up and revealed her bodily assets with such provocative flair that I was pretty sure most people never noticed.

Monica had worked for ST&C for the past three years.  Never once had I seen her wear casual clothes.  She always dressed as though she had a hot date right after work.  Who knows, maybeshe did.  I’ll be honest, it was hard for me to have much respect for Monica since I knew for a fact that the only reason she had been hired was because of her looks.  ST&C’s employees were heavily skewed toward the young, single, male persuasion, which definitely swayed the votes when it came time to interview and then select our receptionist candidate.  More than once, it had occurred to me that I might be a tad jealous, but the fact that Monica went out of her way to dress provocatively, in order to garner as much male attention as possible, irritated me.  Don't get me wrong, I didn't dislike Monica, but at the same time she wasn't necessarily on my list of favorite people either.

The call ended and Monica looked up at me with her deftly outlined eyes.  I suspected that she had those semi-permanent false eyelashes—the ones that were professionally adhered one lash at a time.  “Thanks for waiting.  I have a message for you from your sister.  She was very anxious to speak with you, but didn’t want me to interrupt your meeting.”  Monica handed me the pink message slip with my sister’s telephone number on it and commented, “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

I managed to overcome my initial shock, took the pink slip and looked at it.  “Yeah, well, we’re not close.”  Strangers was more like it.

I mumbled thanks and headed back toward my office, avoiding any questions from Monica.  I wondered, with a fair amount of apprehension, why Giselle wanted to talk to me.  Before Dad’s funeral, we hadn’t spoken to or seen each other for just over twenty years, and it had been more than two years since Dad passed away.

When my parents divorced, my mother took custody of Giselle and my father took me.  It wasn’t a tearful parting.  My sister learned early on that my mother preferred her to me and never passed up an opportunity to remind me.  She made my life a living hell from the time my gift emerged to the time I was seven when my parents split.  My feelings toward Giselle have not changed much over the years.  If anything, they have grown more bitter.  It’s hard not to feel cheated, especially when I see a relationship like that between Julie and her brother Tom.

Giselle and Julie are both first born.  But unlike my good friend, Julie, who has always been caring and protective toward her little brother, Giselle went out of her way to hurt me and widen the rift that had formed between my Mom and me.  Giselle’s spiteful behavior was one of the reasons I looked forward to boarding school; of course, the fact that my mother doted on Giselle and avoided me didn’t help matters.  At five, I experienced feelings that most kids don’t go through until they reach their late teens—I could not wait to get out of the house.

When my parents separated, it was a relief.  A deep resentment grew within me from the age of three and a half when my gift destroyed all normalcy in my young life.  By the time I was seven, two years of school vacations at home with Giselle and Mother had firmly entrenched my feelings of bitterness and hostility.  During that time, the weekends and evenings with my father and having Red for a companion were the only bright spots for me.

Unlike my mother, Dad never openly shied away from me, even from the very first indication of my psychic ability.  I know it hurt him deeply that my mother chose to alienate herself from me, although, in the beginning he had no idea how bad it was.  It wasn’t until Red came into my life that my father discovered the magnitude of the problem.  After spending just one week as my companion, Red was outraged and bluntly described to my father the agony I went through on a daily basis.

My sister blames me for my parents’ divorce.  I guess it’s a stalemate because I blame heo, although I know that she was only part of the problem.  If she had been a different person, one who was more kind and protective, and guided by a caring mother, then our family might have had a chance.  But as it was, my mother and sister fed off of each other’s fear and jealousy, turning an already difficult situation into an untenable one.  My sister despised me because my father lavished me with attention to make up for my mother’s rejection.  My mother feared and hated me because I knew her dark secret.

After all this time, it is hard to believe that I have never revealed the secret of my mother’s affair to any of my family and discussed it with very few friends.  (I don’t know what got into me this afternoon when I blurted it out to Vince.)  In the beginning, I didn’t tell anyone because I loved my mother.  I knew from holding her hand at the park that she felt overwhelmingly guilty about the brief fling with my uncle.  She was desperately terrified that my father would find out.  I worshipped my mother.  Even at three and a half, I knew that revealing her secret would hurt her deeply, which I wouldn’t have done for the world.  Later, when my secrecy had been rewarded with rejection and thinly veiled hatred, I didn’t expose her secret because I didn’t want to hurt my father.  Although our family life was dysfunctional to say the least and I was patently miserable, I didn’t want to be the one responsible for breaking us up.

Lost in thought, I strayed briefly to the front conference room and retrieved my notes, camera and coffee tray.  When I reached my office, I deposited everything on my desk.  Red looked up as I flopped into the window seat next to him, wedging several pillows behind my back to make myself comfortable.

“Lire, what’s wrong?”

I gave Red a wan smile.  “Wrong?  What could be wrong?  I just got a message from Giselle.”

“Good Lord.  What could she want?”  He paused thoughtfully.  “It must be your mother.  Something’s happened.  Why else would she call?”

I pulled up my knees and rested my chin on them, wrapping my arms around my lower legs to keep them from moving out from under me.  I regarded Red seriously.  “I know.  She despises me.  That’s about the only reason I can think of that would compel her to talk to me.”  I let out a sigh that I had been holding for the past several minutes.  It didn’t do much to make me feel better.

“Are you going to call her?”

I thought about it.  “Yeah, I guess so.  Monica said that she was anxious to speak with me, but didn’t want to interrupt my meeting.  You know me.  I’m not so petty that I’d refuse to talk to her, much as I might like to.”

“At least have something to eat first.  You can’t live on coffee and cookies.”

I couldn’t argue.  It wasn’t just Giselle’s call that made me jittery.  I hadn’t ingested anything but coffee and a couple Entenmann's cookies for the past seven hours.  My body was starting to get pretty twitchy, and it felt like I was talking to Red through a hollow tube.

I ate a leftover pasta salad from the previous day's lunch while I contemplated my feelings about Giselle and Mom, and it seemed poor payment for the lump it left in the pit of my stomach.  I decided that I felt queasy because my body was lacking sugar, so I chased the salad down with a couple more of the oatmeal cookies I had laid out for Ben and myself earlier.  Unfortunately, they didn’t make me feel much better.  Now I felt sick to my stomach and in need of a workout.

Before I could chicken out, I picked up the phone and quickly punched Giselle’s number.  It rang three times before a hushed femal voice answered, “Hello?”

I wasn’t sure if it was Giselle.  We hadn’t spoken more than four or five words in over twenty years.  Even at my father’s funeral, we stayed as far apart from each other as the room would allow.  “Hi.  Uh, may I please speak with Giselle?”

“This is Giselle.  Is this Clotilde?”

“It’s Lire.  I got your message a few minutes ago.”

She was silent for a moment, and then I heard muffled sounds of movement.  “Just a second.”  After several seconds listening to her uneven breathing, I heard a faint scrunching noise that sounded like she plopped down onto a leather couch or chair.  “Sorry,” she said in a more normal voice, “My son is sleeping, and I needed to get somewhere where I can talk.”

“Oh.  Okay.”  This was the first I heard that she had a child, but I didn’t say anything because I wanted to get to the reason for her call.  Besides, I didn’t know whether she would share any personal information with me.

“Sorry.  I need to catch my breath for a second.  I was all the way upstairs.”  She paused for a moment and then continued, “Uh, the reason I called is because Mom is pretty sick.  She’s in the hospital, and well,” her voice broke, “things aren’t good.  It’s cancer, and the doctors have said that there’s nothing more they can do.”

“I had a feeling that’s why you called.”  I didn’t know what to say.  I was mired in conflicting feelings about my mother and caught off guard by my sister’s emotions.  “I’m sorry.”

She was crying softly now, but managed to speak without too much difficulty.  “Thanks.”  She took another shuddering breath and blew it out slowly.  “The other reason I called is to tell you that Mom wants to see you.”

I didn’t say anything for several seconds.  This was an unexpected shock.  It had been twenty-three years since I last saw my mother, a woman who typically greeted me by saying, “Oh, it’s you.”  I realized when I got Giselle’s message that I hadn’t really come to terms with how I felt about her.  I thought I had.  I really did.  But it was a lie.

For the past several years, I had been telling myself that I understood why my mother behaved the way she did.  I knew her motivations.  She was terrified that I had the ability to gaze into her mind.  She was humiliated that I knew her secret.  She was ashamed that magic ran in our family in such a visible way.  It was understandable.  I mean, a lot of people would act the same way given the same circumstances.  Wouldn’t they?  Over the years, I had embraced this excuse, but now confronted with the possibility of seeing my mother again, I decided that I didn’t want to let her off the hook that easily.

“Jeez.”  I couldn’t think of what to say.  I needed some time to digest this recent news.

I realized, when I said I really couldn’t blame her for rejecting me, I wasn't being honest.  I did blame her.  Just because I understood the reasons for my mother’s disregard, didn’t mean that I had come to terms with them.  Frankly, I wasn’t sure I really wanted to.

Boy, this personal introspection stuff was no fun at all.

Part of me, the angry, spiteful part, wanted to tell Giselle to go jump in a lake.  I hadn’t spoken to mother for twenty-three years, and the prospect of never speaking with her again would hardly be noticeable.  Of course, now that she was asking for me, it was noticeable, and I couldn’t just ignore it.  If I did, I would always wonder what she wanted and probably regret missing my opportunity to give her a piece of my mind.

“Clo—uh, Lire…I know what you must be going through, and ” she began, but I cut her off before she could finish.

“You couldn’t possibly begin to understand.”

She was quiet for a moment.  “No, I suppose I can’t.”  She added, “But if it helps…Mom told me about Uncle Byron.  She said you knew and never said anything.  She said other things, too, but I think you should hear them for yourself.”

Cool silence echoed down the telephone line while I stumbled over that revelation.  “She told you.  I can’t believe it.  God!  After all of these years…”

“I know.  It wasn’t easy for her, but she did eventually get it all out.”  She paused and then added quietly, “It explains a lot.”

I sighed.  “Okay, I’ll come.  Do I have some time, or should I leave today as soon as possible?”  It was the nicest way I could ask how badly Mom was doing.

“It would be best if you left soon.  Yes, tonight if possible.  Are you going to fly?”

“I don’t know yet.  Probably.  What hospital is Mom at?”

“She’s at Stanford.  If you go to the information desk, they can tell you what room she’s in.  When you have your itinerary, call me and let me know when you’ll be arriving.  I want to tell her when you’re coming.”

“Okay.  I’ll call you a little later.”

“Okay, and…Lire?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“Uh, sure.  Talk to you later.”  We said goodbye, and I hung up.

I slumped back heavily into my chair and pressed the palms of my hands against my closed eyes.  “God!  The day just can’t get any worse.”

“Yes, it has been…eventful.  So what did Giselle have to say?”

I sighed and swiveled my chair around so I could look at Red.  “You were right.  Mom isn’t doing well.  She’s in the hospital, and Giselle says that she has cancer.  It must be pretty advanced because apparently the doctors can’t do anything for her.”

He inclined his head slightly.  “How do you feel about that?”

I folded my arms over my stomach and shrugged.  “Gosh, I don’t know, Red.  This has happened so suddenly.  I thought I had put the past behind me, gotten over my screwed up childhood.  Now…well, maybe I’m not as over it as I thought.”

“It was never resolved, Lire.  That is why you are conflicted.”

“Yeah, I’ve figured that out.  Well, it looks like I’m going to get my chance at some type of resolution.  Giselle said that Mom wants to see me.  I need to check flights.  She says I should come right away.”

“What made you decide to go?”

My eyes widened with the knowledge.  “Oh!  Giselle said that Mom told her about the affair with Uncle Byron.  Giselle wouldn’t say anything else—said that I needed to hear the rest from Mom.”

“She was positively conciliatory.”

“Yeah, she was.  This whole thing is just too weird.  It went nothing like I expected.  Hell, when Dad died, I got Julie to contact Giselle for me.  I had no desire to talk to her if I didn’t have to.  Of course, I was also pretty much a basket case at the time.  I don’t know that I could have done it, even if I had wanted to.”

“Perhaps something your mother said has made a difference.”

“Maybe.  I don’t know.  I guess we’ll see.”  My emotions were completely muddled.

I turned to my computer and checked several travel websites before settling on an evening flight.  It would put me in San Francisco a little before eleven o’clock.  I needed to leave the office soon, so I had time to pack.  It was necessary to arrive at the airport several hours early in order to allow for enough time to make it through magic detection.  Red was usually good for at least thirty minutes of examination and discussion, and that was with a certificate from the PRC and a special license from the FAA.  Let’s not even talk about the time spent waiting in line.

Ever since Flight 208 blew up over Los Angeles, anything remotely magical has been treated with intense suspicion by airports around the world.  Not without reason, I guess.  Over three hundred and fifty people died on that flight and on the ground, and it was caused by a high-level fire spell that discharged in the cockpit.  The FAA investigation concluded that a terrorist detonated a magic item that was enchanted with a powerful inferno spell.  Shortly after the cause was discovered, public outcry prompted governments to enact magic screening procedures at all airports.  Here in the United States, it took the airports almost a year to train and hire all the necessary sensitives to do the job.  So, in addition to the metal detectors, x-ray machines and bomb sniffing dogs, all magic items and users are subjected to careful scrutiny by a staff of magic sensitives—individuals who are able to sense and identify different types of magic.  In some cases, the screening process takes longer than the flight time.  The rule of thumb is if the drive time is less than four hours, then it’s probably quicker to drive instead of fly.  Since it was a sixteen-hour drive to the Bay Area, flying was quicker, although the pain-in-the-ass factor made it really tempting to hop in my car and go.

I made arrangements with Monica to reschedule my appointments for the next two days and then informed Jack of my trip.  They were both very sympathetic.  I had to assure Monica more than once that I didn’t need anyone to drive me home.  I was fine.  Really.

Red was quiet on the way home.  I think he sensed that I’d had enough emotional discussions for one day.  I just wanted to zone out and forget about everything that had happened.  Is it still denial if you are conscious of doing it?

I pulled into the driveway of my building around four-forty-five.  The evening commute traffic had started to crowd the streets, so it was easy to stay distracted on the way home and ignore my inner turmoil.  I stopped next to the booth to the left of the driveway and pushed the button that unrolled my window.

“Hi, Chet.  How’s it going?” I asked the familiar garage booth security guard.  Chet had manned the booth almost every day, for the past two years.

Chet flashed a friendly smile, but I wasn’t fooled.  Oh, the smile was genuine, but like many of the building’s security guards, Chet was a retired Navy SEAL with enough tough-guy credits to sink a battleship.  Anyone fool enough to mess with him after overlooking the 10mm Glock sidearm and 225 pounds of muscle deserved what misery they got.

It occurred to me that Chet must have entered the military at eighteen.  He hardly looked older than forty and the military required twenty years of service before retirement.  Of course, it was possible that Chet was older than his well-tended physique led me to believe.  He kept his hair extremely short, so any telltale grey hairs weren't necessarily noticeable.

“Doing fine, m’dear.”  His voice was deep and slightly raspy, which almost seemed to be at odds with his friendly manner.  He checked his watch and then pressed the button that opened the gate.  “Home a little early this evening, aren’tcha?”

I sighed audibly.  “Yeah.  I’m taking a trip tonight.  I’ll be gone for a couple of days.  A limo should be here around five-thirty or so to pick me up.”

“Okay.  I call you when it gets here.  Have a good trip,” he said with a parting smile.

I drove into the parking garage, removing my sunglasses as soon as the shadows enveloped the car, and parked in my assigned parking stall.  The elevator ride to my loft was uninterrupted, and the doors opened up onto the entryway to my penthouse apartment.  The topmost floor of the building was split between two “terrace” apartments; my front door was to the left.  The door to the right belonged to two gay psychics, Jerome and Peter, two of the nicest, most generous souls I’ve had the pleasure of knowing.  (Remember my top ten list of favorite people?  Yep, they're on it.)

It isn’t a coincidence that my closest neighbors are magically inclined—Jerome is a world famous dowser and Peter is a sensitive.  In order to live at Talisman Terrace, at least one owner must be magically inclined.  The building was the first project of Amanda and Tony Wilks, the sorcerer husband and wife duo who have made it their ambition to create communities of fellow magic users along the west coast.  I hear that their third structure, located in San Francisco, is just months away from completion.  Like all of Amanda and Tony's communities, Talisman Terrace is more than just an apartment building.  The entire bottom level is set up for businesses that offer magic services or products to the public.  The second floor is devoted to resident-only spaces, like the exercise facilities, entertainment room, and conference rooms.  The remaining upper floors are divided into loft apartments that are sold only to magically gifted individuals.  We are a close-knit community, meeting regularly for cocktail parties, Sunday afternoon potlucks and special events.  For someone like me, who grew up without the benefit of a close family, the community experience has been very cathartic.

I walked into the delicious hush of my apartment, breathed deeply the familiar, homey smell, and hung my coat over one of the iron hooks on the antique hallway stand next to the front door.  Rectangles of afternoon sun checkered the polished maple floor at the farthest end of the loft, dappled haphazardly by shadows from the small trees on the outside patio.  I walked through the formal living spaces to what most people characterize as the family room, where the sunlit floor met the double French doors leading out to the beautifully landscaped terrace.  I lingered briefly at the glass paned doors before moving to flop heavily on the soft chenille couch nearby.

I reclined briefly and said the requisite “ahhh” before I made the effort to disengage my purse from my shoulder and lay it against the back cushion.  Red climbed out on his own while I doubled over to remove my boots.  Each one had dried mud embedded in the crack between the sole and the faux suede upper, and the heels were coated with a thin layer of caked-on dirt.  There was some staining of the upper, but it wasn’t too bad.  With a good cleaning, they might not be a total loss.  I thought briefly of sending the cleaning bill to Vince, but I wasn’t that petty.

I slumped down into the cushy pillows.  “I so don’t want to leave.  And I certainly don’t want to go through the airport hassle, jump on a plane and fly to the Bay Area.”

“Don’t forget packing.  And see your sister and mother,” Red added.

“Those either.  Gee, thanks for the reminder.”  The truth was, every time I thought about seeing Gselle and Mom, my stomach bottomed out.

I grunted dramatically with the effort of getting up and then dragged my feet to the staircase that led upstairs to my bedroom and office.  “I’m going to go pack, you want to come?”

“No.  I’m going to sit in the sun for a bit.”

I mumbled an acknowledgement and trudged upstairs.  Packing didn’t take very long; after all, I was only going to be gone for two nights.  Everything fit into my small, rolling bag, including my cosmetics and hairdryer.  It meant that I’d probably have to do some ironing, but it was small enough to carry-on the plane, which avoided the baggage check line.  That alone cut down the pre-flight wait by nearly an hour.  Life was just full of little victories.

When I came back downstairs, I found Red lying prone, propped up on his elbows and reading a book.  If I tried to do the same thing, I’d have a stiff neck and really sore elbows after about two minutes, but Red had the advantage of having no muscles or bones, not to mention lacking those pesky pain receptors.  He could literally stay in that position for years and not suffer for it.  It was one of the benefits of being propelled by magic.

I remembered to telephone Giselle and tell her of my arrival time.  We arranged to meet for breakfast (her suggestion) in the hotel restaurant.  After I hung up, I immediately pulled out Vince’s business card.  Chances were that he wasn’t at his desk, but I called the station first anyway.  I was surprised when the receptionist put me through and I didn't get voicemail.

He answered on the second ring.  “Detective Vanelli.”

“Hi there, it’s Lire.”

“Hey.  What’s up?”

“Not much.  I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be out of town for a couple of days.  But, if you need to reach me, you can call my cell.  Do you have the number?”

“Is it on your business card?” he asked.

“No.  I don’t give it out to clients.”

“Okay, give it to me.”

I gave him the number.  “I’ll be back on Wednesday.”

“Early or late?”

“Late afternoon.  My flight comes in at four-something, I think.”

“Thanks for letting me know.  Where’re you off to?” he asked.  I should have known that Vince couldn’t leave my destination a mystery.

“California.  The Bay Area.”  Because I knew he was bound to ask, I volunteered, “I’m going to see my mother, she’s in the hospital.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.  I hope everything is okay.”

“Um, yeah.  Thanks.”  I didn’t really want to get into a lengthy discussion about my mother’s condition, so I drew the conversation to a close.  “Well, I expect I’ll have to turn off my cell while I’m in the hospital, but I’ll be sure to check my messages regularly.”

We said goodbye, and I hung up, relieved that I didn’t have to do a bunch of explaining about my trip.  I checked my watch.  It was almost five-twenty.  If I was lucky, I had ten minutes to eat something before leaving.  I wasn’t likely to find much in the way of psi-free edibles at the airport, so I raided the fridge for something to tide me over.  I hoped that the limo wouldn’t be early.  I was starved.

CHAPTER SIX

When I finally stepped out under the darkened sky in San Francisco, I looked up to see stars instead of the clouded black s usually saw in Seattle.  It was cool, but not nearly as cold as it was back home.  Amazing what several hundred miles will do for the weather.

I picked up my rental car, a white, mid-size Toyota something, and headed toward Palo Alto.  I asked Red to get the directions to the hotel out of my purse and help me navigate.  I had visited the Bay Area on several occasions, so I was somewhat familiar with the system of freeways, but needed help getting to the on-ramp.  Even though it was eleven-thirty on a weeknight, the freeway was buzzing with cars.  Most people were cruising ten to fifteen miles over the speed limit, but I played things conservatively and stayed out of the fast lanes.  I was driving a borrowed car on an unfamiliar road with an out-of-state driver's license.  I didn’t need a speeding ticket to liven up my evening.

With Red's help, we made it to the Stanford Park Hotel without getting lost.  Thank God, because I was really beat.  I took advantage of valet parking and let the attendant unload my luggage from the trunk, but I drew the line at having it brought to my room.  It was hardly more than a handful, so I thanked him and wheeled it into the hotel lobby myself.

The hotel room was tastefully decorated, although, after my very trying day followed by six hours of travel, I probably would have appreciated anything short of a wood pallet and scratchy blanket.  The suite was split between a well-appointed entertainment section and a sleeping area dominated by a four-poster bed.  Crammed into the front part of the suite were a couch, wing chair, small desk, and television armoire, along with a small wet-bar.  The doorway to the bathroom was to the right of the entry and the marble gleamed from within, despite the near darkness.

I placed my suitcase on the luggage stand and regarded the room.  The bed was beautifully made.  It seemed a shame to disturb the pillows and muss-up the comforter.  That thought lasted about two seconds before the decorative pillows were heaped on the floor and the covers thrown back.  The Stanford Park Hotel was one of the few Bay Area hotels that offered psi-free linens.  I was looking forward to falling into the soft pillow and snuggling under the down comforter without having to put on my protective skin-suit.

Red crawled out of my purse and surveyed the surroundings.  “Looks nice.”  He jumped up and down on the bed.  “You didn’t have this nice a room last time we were here.”

“I know.  Last time I was able to make my reservations a month in advance.  This time, with such short notice, the less expensive rooms were already booked.”  I uttered a loud, gushing sigh as I flopped on my stomach in front of Red.  “But I’m not complaining.  I might as well enjoy what I can while I’m here.  The rest of the visit is sure to be less pleasant.”

“How do you feel about seeing Giselle?”

I folded my arms in front of me and laid my head on the back of my overlapped hands, so I could see Red.  “A little nervous, I guess.  She’s been pretty nice on the telephone, so I’m not as tense as I might have been.  I’m more freaked out about seeing my mother…probably because I don’t really know what to expect.”

“A lot of bitter memories there.”

“Mmmm,” I agreed.

“Are you willing to put them behind you?”

I closed my eyes briefly and sighed.  “I don’t know.  I thought I had gotten past the bitterness and the anger, but it’s still there, down deep.  I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it…but…I’d like to.”  My voice broke, and I swallowed hard, blinking back the tears that burned my eyes.

“Being open to it—thats the first step.  I know it hasn’t been easy.  In some ways, I think you’ve had a more difficult life than I ever had.  It amazes me that you’ve managed to keep your kindness through it all.”  He paused and cocked his head to the side.  “In the end, that’s what will save you.  Your open-heartedness makes you easier to hurt, but it also means that, ultimately, you’re more open to healing and forgiveness.”

I took a deep breath and smiled at him.  “How is it that you always know exactly what to say to make me feel better?”

“Amazing perception and a certain amount of skill.  Of course, it helps that I’ve known you all of your life.”

I chuckled.  “I love you, Red.”

“I love you too.”  And we both knew that was the real reason why he always knew just what to say.

Sleep came for me surprisingly easy that night.  After the blaring lights in the bathroom and the anxiety over the next day’s events, I thought for sure that I’d be tossing and turning, but I didn’t.  I fell asleep in what must have been only minutes after snuggling my head on the pillow.

I awoke to muted sunlight streaming through the gauzy curtains and a strange, repetitive sound coming from outside the room.  Curious, I threw off the covers and padded slowly to the door while I tried to clear my head.  Why wasn’t I at home in my own bed?  My head felt muddled, and I raised my hand to my forehead absently in an effort to remember.  Maybe what was beyond the door would jog my memory.

I turned the knob quietly, opened the door just a crack and peered outside.  A draft of clean air wafted over my face, bringing the smells of morning laced with the sweet aromas of the outdoors.  It was bright, and I had to shield my eyes with my free hand while I squinted out at the scene beyond my door.

The door opened onto a wide front porch that was painted white and surrounded by a simple farmhouse railing.  Past the porch, down a few stairs, was an idyllic country setting, complete with a large oak tree and circular driveway.  Still not seeing anything familiar, I deliberately opened the door just enough to fit my head and peered toward the offending noise.

Someone was swinging on a large bench swing down at the other end of the porch.  In the shadow of the overhang, the figure was cast in silhouette, but it appeared to be a man, slim with wide shoulders and short hair.

“Hi,” said a familiar voice.  “Sorry if I woke you.”

It seemed silly to hide, since he was aware of my presence.  I stepped out onto the porch to face the figure, only belatedly thinking to check myself for decency.  I was wearing a long, pale pink nightgown, with spaghetti straps and lace-covered bodice.  It wasn’t something I normally wore.  I hesitated, not really sure what to do.  Was there a robe inside the room?  The temperature was comfortable.  I didn’t need it for warmth, and the bodice seemed to offer good coverage.  While I dallied, looking from my body toward the doorway and back again, a deep chuckle resonated from the other end of the deck.  I looked up sharply and tried to peer past the shadows, willing them to reveal the man seated on the swing, but my vision remained frustrated.

“Something amusing?” I asked the figure.

“I’m sorry.  Don’t worry about a robe.  Come sit with me.  We need to talk.”

Curiosity winning over modesty, I walked slowly toward the figure on the swing.  As I grew closer to him, my eyes adjusted to the brightness and his features gradually became clearer.  When I realized who it was, I closed the remaining distance at a quicker pace.

“Jason.  What are you doing here?”  I paused, realization dawning.  “I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”

He nodded and stopped the swing with his feet.  I sat down, turning slightly to face him.

“What’s with the country setting?” I asked.

“Hey, it’s my dream too.  I figured I might as well enjoy the scenery.”  He quickly wiggled his eyebrows up and down a few times at me, with a playful smile.

I laughed and shook my head at his exaggerated leer.  In life, he would have been too young for me, but I was willing to bet he was a hit with all the college girls.  The line of thought made me wonder about all his loved ones that were going to be heartbroken when they learned of his death, and then I recalled my earlier discussion with Vince.

“I asked Detective Vanelli to tell your parents about your soul, but I'm not sure he'll go that far.  Hopefully Vince will at least tell them I had a psychic encounter with your remains.  Will they believe him, do you think?  Will they call me?”

He thought for a moment.  “Yeah, I think so.  They’re spiritual people, Catholic, but, then you knew that.  Obviously they’re well aware that magic isn’t just a fairy tale.  They’ll probably be worried enough to at least look into it.”

“Good.  Uh, so what did you want to talk about?”  I leaned back as Jason rocked the swing to and fro gently.

He turned serious.  “Have you figured out ”

The telephone jolted me out of sleep and it took a long moment for me to remember why it was on the wrong side of the bed.  I rolled over and fumbled with the cloth-covered handset, croaking my greeting before the receiver had made it all the way to my ear.  When I finally got it into position, a computerized voice was midway through wishing me a good morning and advised me of my seven o’clock wake up call.  I hung up and moaned loudly.  My gravelly morning voice made it sound particularly pathetic.

“Good morning, Lire.”  Red had managed to climb up on the desk and turn on the light.  He was leaning against the lamp, reading one of his paperback books.

I emitted a muffled and somewhat insincere “morning” from behind my hands as I rubbed my face vigorously and wiped the sleep from my eyes.  Blinking against the light, I turned away from Red and located my gloves on the nightstand.  I slipped them on, slowly disentangled my legs from under the covers and placed my socked feet on the floor.  Sitting on the edge of the bed with my eyes closed, I hung my head and mourned the loss of additional sleep.  I was having such a nice dream about Jason, too, I lamented.  After a couple of minutes and some additional grumps and moans, I struggled to my feet and shuffled toward the bathroom.  Mornings were not my thing.

Although the hotel linens and toiletries were psi-free and there were disposable slip covers on the furniture, all the other surfaces and objects in the room were not; so it was necessary to wear my gloves and socks while getting ready, even in the shower.  The shower had plastic vinyl protectors on the walls, which helped, but I didn’t linger like I usually do at home.  By the time I was finished getting ready, the bathroom was covered in towels from where I had placed them to prevent bodily contact.  My wet gloves and socks were hanging to drip dry over the shower door.

I hastily gathered the unused towels and placed them in a loosely folded pile on the towel rack.  After all, they were still clean and it was expensive to get additional towels.  Most hotels charge for extra psi-free towels because the can only be used once before going into the regular linen supply.

My stomach fluttered wildly as I left my room for the restaurant.  I checked my watch for the twentieth time to confirm that I was now seventeen minutes early.  I needed coffee to ward off a morning headache, so I decided to wait for Giselle in the dining room.  My cell phone was turned on and Giselle had the number, so I wasn’t too worried that we would miss each other.

I waited patiently at the dining room entrance for the hostess while she seated a middle-aged Asian couple at one of the many white cloth covered tables.  The sun was out and it glowed brightly behind the white louvers of the shutter-clad windows.  The light made the room seem fresh and crisp, accentuating the way the blue, gold, and white striped upholstered chairs stood out against the clean, white table linens.

The young, well-dressed hostess smiled brightly, noticing me as she turned back toward the front of the dining room.  Her expression faltered slightly when her eyes glanced down to my elbow length gloves, but she regained her composure quickly.  She reached the podium and looked at me with an expectant, friendly expression.  “Good morning.”

“Morning.  I’d like a table for two.  I’m meeting my sister at eight.”

She nodded.  A strand of strawberry blonde hair fell across her cheek, and she automatically tucked it behind her right ear.  “No problem.  Do you want to be seated now?”

“Uh, yes.  That would be nice.”  I waited for her to make some pencil marks on the table chart and pluck two menus from under the podium and then followed her to a table at the back of the dining room.  “My name is Lire Devon, in case my sister asks for me.  Thanks.”

She smiled and walked away.  “Enjoy your meal.”

I looked at the menu, skipping to the bottom, near the kid’s and senior’s section, and found the psi-free entrees.  There were several choices, a nice surprise.  My stomach growled loudly and my mouth watered as I savored each one in my mind.  I kept an eye out for my waitress while I lingered over the menu, hoping that she’d show up with the coffee soon.  I tentatively decided on eggs Florentine and placed the closed menu in front of me.  Of course, the vegetable omelet sounded good too…

Several times I signaled toward the blonde, heavy-set waitress, who seemed to be serving the tables in my section, but we never seemed to connect.  After the fourth attempt, I began to suspect that I was being ignored.  Maybe the hostess had neglected to assign a waitress to my table.  A few minutes later, the blonde waitress walked to the front of the restaurant and had some words with a small, dark-haired waitress, who was standing near the podium.  I didn’t see the hostess.  Maybe the brunette was filling in while the hostess was on break.  I hoped that they were discussing who was supposed to be serving me because I was about to get my own damn cup of coffee.

The waitresses stayed in their huddle for a minute or so until the blonde shook her head and walked in the direction of the kitchen, plainly displeased with something.  Curious, I brought my attention back toward the other waitress.  As she turned toward the podium, we made eye contact.  I was momentarily startled by the expression of hatred on her face.  Now, I generally try not to jump to conclusions when people’s expressions are concerned, but I suspected that the lack of service was not accidental.  After years of discrimination, it was difficult not to jump to negative conclusions.  I tried my best to not assume the worst.  Maybe the waitresses were annoyed with the hostess for leaving me in the lurch and the brunette was now at the podium to fix things.  Yeah, rit.  And maybe I'd never get another request to read something from Marilyn Monroe's death bed either.

I contemplated storming out of the restaurant and waiting for Giselle in the lobby.  We could try another restaurant for breakfast.  Or, I could raise a fuss with the hotel manager, but that usually made for a miserable meal, being served by employees who clearly did not want me there.  It would make me wonder whether they were spitting in my eggs, back in the kitchen.  Before I could decide what to do, I looked up to see Giselle walking toward me.

It took me more than a moment to realize that the pregnant woman walking toward my table was Giselle.  She had always been slim, skinny even, and the chubby-cheeked woman moving toward my table was not what I expected.  I assumed that she was meeting someone else.  It wasn’t until I noticed that her eyes were trained on me that I looked closer and recognized Giselle.

She was dressed in a maternity outfit that was certainly a designer label because it was stylish and didn’t look like a tent or have flowers all over it.  Besides, this was Giselle.  Even as a child she always dressed impeccably.  Her gait was slow and deliberate, with a bit of a waddle.  It was no wonder, with the full load she was carrying down front.  If I had to guess, I’d say that she was at least fifty pounds heavier than when I saw her at Dad’s funeral and at least eight months pregnant.  She smiled tentatively at me.

“Hi, Lire.  Wow, you changed your hair.  I like it.”  She looked at me with a delighted expression.

“Hey, Giselle.”  I nodded and motioned to the chair.  “Take a load off, why don’t you?”

With an initial “oof,” she settled herself into the seat across from me.  “Ahh, that’s better.”

“How are you?  How’s Mom?”  Before I left Seattle, I decided that as long as Giselle continued to be civil, I would return the favor.

She leaned down to place her purse next to her chair.  “As well as can be expected, I suppose.  I spoke with the doctor briefly last night.  There’s not much more that they can do, other than just make her as comfortable as possible.  Her kidneys are showing signs of failure.  He doesn’t expect her to make it past the weekend.”  Her voice broke, and she apologized after a few deep breaths.  “They moved her to the hospice floor, yesterday.  She has the option of going home, but she doesn’t want to.  I even offered to have her stay with me, but she won’t hear of it.  She says she’s fine where she is.  The nurses are just great and they’re taking good care of her.”

I nodded and asked gently, “Is she in much pain?”

She pursed her lips and tilted her head from side to side.  “A little, I think.  She refuses to take the full dose of painkillers because they make her feel fuzzy and sleepy.  When I ask her about it, she says that she’s fine and doesn’t want to hear about trying some different pain killers.”

I nodded and then motioned to her stomach.  “So how are you?  You’re looking very pregnant.  I like your hair too, by the way.”  It looked like I wasn’t the only one with a recent makeover.

Giselle's naturally curly hair was cut chin length and expertly styled.  It suited her narrow face and highlighted her large brown eyes.  I was the red sheep in the family, so to speak.  Both my parents and my sister had dark, almost black, hair and brown eyes, while I had coloring more consistent with shamrocks and Guinness.  When we were growing up, my sister told me I must be adopted because of my red hair.  I wasn’t.  Grandpa Giordano had been a red head like me, but he died many years before we were born.  Mom had rarely talked about him.  When Dad caught wind of Giselle’s assertion, he gave me a photo of Grandpa that I still keep next to my bed to this day.  It made me feel better, and Giselle stopped teasing me about it.  Of course, she never lacked for other hurtful things to say.

She touched her hair absently.  “Thanks.  Yeah, my due date is in three weeks.  It feels like I’m carrying a bowling ball, but other than that, I'm okay.”  She smiled, but I saw the stress of my mother’s illness weighing heavily on her features.

“Do you know what you’re having?”

“Yes, another boy.  Initially we wanted it to be a surprise, but when Mom got sick, we decided to find out.  I wanted her to know.”  Her eyes filled with tears again, and she dabbed them with a tissue from her purse.

She looked around the room.  “So, does anybody work here?  I’d like some coffee.”

“Yeah.  I’ve been wondering the same thing.”  I looked at my watch.  “I was seated twenty minutes ago, and the waitress has yet to come over.”

“Maybe they were waiting for me to show up.  Did you tell them someone else was coming?”

“I mentioned to the hostess that you were going to be here at eight.  Even so, you’d think they’d at least come by with some coffee.”

Giselle tried, with as much success as I had, to flag down a waitress, all the while grumbling about the horrible service and getting increasingly angry.

After another five minutes of being ignored, I suggested, “Maybe we should just grab something at the hospital.  I’m sure they’ll have something psi-free.  Besides, it’ll probably be quicker than eating here.”

“We won’t need to go anywhere else.  You’ll see.”  Giselle looked at me with an opaque expression.

“Huh?  What’s going on?”  I wasn’t much on surprises, and she was clearly up to something.

Before she could answer, a tall, slim gentleman wearing a double-breasted navy suit stopped at our table.  “Ms. Stafford, I must apologize.  You were absolutely correct in your assessment of the situation.”  He turned to me with a sincere expression.  “Ms. Devon, I am the hotel manager, please accept my deepest apology for the rude and inexcusable behavior of two of our restaurant staff.  I can assure you that they will be reprimanded.  Their behavior does not reflect the attitudes of the rest of the staff here at the Stanford Park Hotel.  Of course your breakfast this morning will be complimentary, and here is a gift certificate that may be used toward a future meal.  I have asked Melinda, our hostess, to serve you personally this morning.  If you have any further problems or suggestions, please feel free to speak with me.”  He handed me his business card and a slim envelope with what I assumed was the gift certificate.

Giselle thanked him curtly.  “I appreciate your effort to correct this situation, Mr. Nielson.  I know you will ensure that the two staff members in question will not make any more appearances in the restaurant, or anywhere else in the hotel while my sister is a guest here.”

“I will see to it personally,” he assured us.

Still feeling surprised by the manager’s appearance and obsequious speech, I mumbled, “Thank you, Mr. Nielson.  I have always enjoyed staying here, and I’d like to feel good about returning in the future.”

“Thank you for being so understanding.  Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”  He nodded politely and then walked away.

After he left, I looked at Giselle.  “You spoke with him before you sat down with me?”

She nodded and said, “Yes.”

“How did you know what was going on?”

Before Giselle could answer, the hostess brought me a plastic wrapped psi-free cup, set down a thermal decanter with psi-free coffee and then took our order.  Melinda, the hostess and now our waitress, apologized genuinely for the situation and explained that she was on her break at the time; otherwise she would have done something about the situation.  I assured Melinda that we didn’t hold it against her.  She went away to give our order to the kitchen, looking distinctly relieved.

I gave Giselle a questioning look, and she answered it.  “I overheard the waitresses talking about you when I first arrived.  They didn’t notice me, so after I listened to their little discussion, I went to see the hotel manager.  I told him who I work for and then pointed out the possibility of legal action.”

I must have looked puzzled because she asked, “You know who Stan Worster is, don’t you?”

I nodded.  Stan Worster was a well-known attorney who prosecuted discrimination lawsuits and didn’t draw the line at cases involving magic users.  He was practically a legend in the magic community, mostly because of his role in Gardner v. Templton.  But also because of the hundreds of less historic, but no less important cases of anti-magic discrimination that he’s tried and won.  His most notable achievement was the role he played in drafting the 1995 Paranormal Rights Act, which extended the 1964 Civil Rights Act to include magic users, psychics, and the cursed.

Giselle continued, barely taking a breath, and smiled proudly.  “I’m a partner at his law firm.  I strongly suggested to the manager that he observe the waitresses in action and take whatever action necessary if he saw that there was a problem.”  She considered my expression.  “You’re surprised.”

I shrugged.  “A little.”  I busied myself with unwrapping my coffee cup and figuring out how to open the decanter, so that I could pour myself an overdue pick-me-up.

She wasn’t fooled.  “I can’t blame you for being shocked.  I was pretty rotten to you while we were growing up.”  Giselle looked down nervously at her coffee.  “Actually, it’s something I’ve wanted to talk to you about for a while now.  Ever since my first child was born, almost two years ago, I couldn’t help but do a lot of thinking about our childhood.  Being a mother changed me in ways I didn’t expect.  It made me realize how awful things were for you.”  She looked at me earnestly.  “It wasn’t an easy process.  I love Mom very much, and I had to come to terms with the fact that she wasn’t a very good mother to you.”  She shook her head.  “Knowing how I feel about my own son, I still don’t understand how she treated you the way she did.  For what it's worth, I’m sorry for making things worse.”

I stared at her in stunned silence for several seconds.  “Wow.  Um.  Wow.”  I closed my mouth quickly to stop my stammering and took a moment to compose myself.  I looked down at my coffee and shrugged.  “I did my own share of hurtful things too.  You know, for many years, I hated you—you and Mom both.  But I guess I’ve realized that we were both kids, acting out they way most kids would probably act with a bigot for a role-model.”  Giselle flinched, and I sighed.  “Anyway, I appreciate your apology, and…I'm sorry too.”

She nodded slowly.  “Thanks, Clo—  Uh!  Sorry, it’ll take me a while to get used to calling you Lire.”  She smiled apologetically.

“That’s okay.”

“So, what abot Mom?  How are you feeling about her?”  She added hastily, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

I shrugged, careful not to spill my coffee, which was midway between the table and my lips.  My gaze lingered at the framed artwork over her left shoulder while I drank.  I considered my response.  “I dunno.  Confused.  And still…really bitter.  To be honest, I’m not sure if it's something I can get over.”

Giselle looked at me sadly.  “But you came.”

“Yeah.”  I tipped my head to the side and considered.  “I didn’t say that I wasn’t hoping to get over it.  I just don’t think it’s possible.  There are so many bad memories.”

Giselle just nodded and looked into her cup.  I was glad because I didn’t know what else to say.  My feelings were in such a state of chaos that I was struggling just to form coherent sentences.

“So, you still have Red?” she asked after a moment of silence.

I smiled.  “Yeah, he still puts up with me.”

“Has he ever forgiven me for burying him at the park?” Giselle asked and looked down quickly.

She was embarrassed, and well she should be.  Burying Red was one of the most egregious things she did to me during our childhood and probably contributed to the final breach in my parent’s marriage.

When I was seven and at home for the summer, Giselle managed to capture and lock Red in a small, play treasure chest and then bury him under some bushes in the neighborhood park.  She had always been extremely jealous of Red—in her mind he was the symbol of Dad’s preference toward me—so she lashed out exactly where she knew it would hurt me most.

It took three days to find him.  At first, my parents just assumed that I had misplaced him, but as the day wore on, it became clear that something more serious had happened because of the spells that bind Red to me.  It is not possible for Red to run away or resist my call.  They soon realized that some kind of physical barrier was keeping Red from reaching me.

It didn’t take long for my father to figure out that Giselle was responsible for Red’s disappearance; after all, she was only eleven years old and not a very adept liar.  Dad banished her to her room and threatened to take away all of her toys (what else could he do?) if she didn’t fess up.  But Giselle was nothing if not stubborn.  She figured hurting me was more important than being in Dad’s good graces or playing outside with her friends.  Of course, as soon as Dad left for work, Mom let Giselle out of her room to play.  Giselle was sure she had it made and spent the entire day rubbing it in my face, but her gloating was short lived.  When Dad got home and found out that Mom had sabotaged his plan, he was furious.  That was one of the few occasions that I remember my parents arguing openly.  Until that time, they managed to keep their disagreements private, probably because they had mostly to do with me.

For the next two days, Dad stayed home to keep an eye on things.  Although it was difficult to do anything but cry, I made sure Giselle had no trouble hearing my squeals of delight at having Dad home to play with all day while she was stuck in her room.  Finally, on day three, when Dad went into Giselle’s room with three big garbage bags and began throwing her toys into them, she tearfully showed him where Red was buried.

Red later told me that Giselle tricked him into looking into the chest and then pushed him inside with a stick.  Once he was locked inside, Giselle used the rope that she had already tied around the chest to drag it outside to a pre-dug hole.  Red’s protection spells are powerful, but not completely foolproof. Ever since that day, I rarely take my eyes off of him unless I’m very sure about our surroundings, like at work.

I hadn’t spoken to Red about that incident for a long time.  “I don’t know, Giselle.  When we have some privacy, you can ask him.”

Our breakfast arrived.  We chatted about our lives as though we had just met, and to a certain extent we had.  We talked about where we lived, our jobs, her husband, my lack of a husband—every day things that sisters were supposed to know about each other.  We also discussed the past, things that happened after my parents divorced that weren’t passed on to the other by my Dad.

Although I hadn’t seen my mother since I was seven, my sister visited Dad occasionally when I was away at school.  Because they maintained a loving if distant relationship, Dad always made sure to drop information about each of us in conversation whenever he could.  I guess it was his way of keeping us aware of each other.  I know Dad always hoped that we would find a way to reconcile, although he knew better than to say anything directly to either of us.

When we were done eating and Giselle had sent the bill away with her credit card (she insisted on paying), I made the observation that if Dad was watching from above, he’d surely be smiling down at us.  She looked down thoughtfully and when she met my eyes a moment later, there were silent tears streaming down her face.  The sudden display of emotion shocked me, and pretty soon we were both crying, and laughing at ourselves in the process.  For the first time in my life, I felt the heaviness in my heart lift that I had spent twenty-seven years convincing myself wasn’t there.

All too soon, I had to contemplate seeing my mother, and my stomach clenched nervously.

As we walked out of the restaurant, after assuring Melinda that all was forgiven, I asked Giselle for directions to the hospital.  She had assumed we were going to drive over together, but politely gave me an opportunity to decline the invitation.

As I paused to consider her offer, she added, “Don’t worry about being stuck there.  As soon as you want to leave, I’ll bring you back.  It will give me an excuse to get some air.  It’s pretty stressful for me to stay there for very long.  The longest I’ve managed in one stretch is a couple of hours.”

She was being so accommodating that I didn’t have the heart to tell her that two hours was probably one hundred and fifteen minutes longer than I wanted to stay.  But, no sooner had the thought entered my mind, a wave of guilt followed it.  My own mother lay in pain, dying, and my first thoughts were, “How long will I have to stay?”  Privately ashamed, I acquiesced, and we walked purposefully to what was Giselle's universally accepted symbol of motherhood—a minivan.

It may have been ugly, but I’ll give her vehicle credit for being really roomy and comfortable inside.  It almost made up for the fact that we were riding around in something that looked a lot like an overgrown roller skate with windows.  How appropriate that they were almost exclusively used to haul around children.

Giselle’s minivan was chock full of kid debris, though most of it was corralled behind the front seats.  A few stray toys were stranded in the foot-well and I spotted a pile of clean diapers under the center console, but the passenger seat appeared to be clear of obstacles, so I made myself comfortable.  After I settled in and fastened my seatbelt, I opened my purse and asked Red if he wanted to come out and say hi to Giselle.  He agreed and I brought him out to sit on my lap.

“Hi, Red.”  Giselle looked a little uncertain.  “How are you?”

“Hllo, Giselle.  I am faring well.  It is nice to see you again.”

She hesitated and looked at her lap.  “Uh, Red.  Before we go any further, I want you to know that I’m really sorry about, you know, burying you when I was little.  Do you still think of it?  Can you forgive me?”

Red answered her in his usual, reserved manner, “I haven’t thought of it in quite some time.  Certainly I forgive you.  You were a child in difficult circumstances, without clear moral guidance and support.  Your behavior was understandable, but I thank you for your apology nonetheless.”

Giselle gazed at Red with a mix of relief, wonder and sadness.  She closed her eyes and sighed heavily.  “You know, even now I can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy, just seeing you and speaking with you again.  If after all of these years, I still feel it—can you imagine what it was like for me as a child?  That jealousy was nearly blinding.”  She took a gulp of air and opened her eyes to gaze at Red again.  “Even with children and a husband of my own, I am still envious of Clotilde for having a friend like you, Red.  I don’t begrudge her—I know her life would have been intolerable without you—but the feeling is still there.”  She laughed self-consciously.

“Boy.  Did we have an effed up childhood, or what?” I blurted.

Giselle burst out laughing and shook her head.  “You still have a way with words, little sis.”

On the way to the hospital, which was only a fifteen-minute drive (mostly due to traffic lights), we spoke about Mom and the disease’s progression.  I was nervous about seeing her for reasons not all due to our acrimonious relationship.  I was scared to see how the disease had affected her body; partly because I was afraid my face would betray my emotions and partly, I think, because of the innate human fear of death.  I really did not need any further reminders of the fragility of life, thank you very much.

Although we didn’t have any semblance of a mother-daughter relationship, I had no desire to torment Mom by reflecting back the horror of her disease with my facial expressions.  I was bitter and angry, but not cruel.  I told Giselle how I was feeling.  She was very understanding and tried to prepare me the best she could.  She told me about Mom’s condition and how she looked, and I tried to ready myself for the worst.

I don’t know that anything could have prepared me for seeing Mom.  After all, I hadn’t set eyes on her for over twenty years.  The difference in age was bound to be startling, but her advanced years combined with the ravages of the disease made her appearance almost unbearably shocking.

When I last saw my mother, she was in her late thirties with not a grey hair to be found in her thick, dark hair and nor a wrinkle on her clear, pale skin.  She was elegant and beautiful.  I once overheard someone saying that my mother was the most exotically striking woman they’d ever met.  Hmmm…exotically striking—yup, those were the words.  Those two words rang in my ears, for years.  I spent many a tearful night wishing that I was ‘exotically striking’, instead of Irish barmaid material.  Well, whatever the adjectives, her features were unforgettable—high arching brows, slender nose, prominent cheekbones and distinct jaw-line.  But her crowning glory was her thick, jet-black hair, which she wore loose to hang below her shoulders or twisted into a complicated style at the back of her neck.  During my childhood, how I lamented the combination of genes that produced my dreadful Raggedy Ann red locks and yet gave Giselle hair that more closely approximated my mother’s.

Mom’s day nurse, a large boned blonde with broad features and an easy smile, was epecting us and came out from behind the front counter.  She spoke in hushed tones as we walked from the nurse’s station slowly toward Mom’s bed, telling us about Mom’s morning and what she knew about the previous night.  Apparently, Mom mentioned several times that we were coming to visit this morning and was worried about missing us during one of her catnaps. I’m sure the nurse made a point of telling us this, so that we weren’t tempted to let Mom continue sleeping for politeness’ sake, which is probably what we would have done.  She gently informed us that Mom was sleeping much of the time now because her body was in decline.  When Giselle stopped walking and asked her whether she ‘thought it would be soon’, she nodded gravely and squeezed Giselle’s hand.

Fortunately, Mom was still sleeping when we approached, so I had a moment to recover my composure after the initial shock of seeing her for the first time.  It wasn’t just the fact that she looked sickly.  What I found most disturbing was that I actually failed to recognize her.  Until Giselle approached the bed, I didn’t know the person lying there was my mother.  That realization hit me harder than I expected.

I stood awkwardly at the end of the bed as Giselle gently rubbed Mom’s shoulder and whispered her name.  After several gentle nudges, Mom’s eyes opened and slowly focused on Giselle.  She smiled wearily.  Her voice was hardly above a whisper, but I heard her say, “Hello, dear.  How are you today?”

“I’m doing okay.  Mom, how are you doing?  Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you dear.  I’m fine.”

As she shook her head, her gaze drifted away from Giselle and found me at the foot of the bed.  Recognition spread across her features.

“Oh, it’s you.”

But instead of being laced with disdain, the greeting I hadn’t heard since childhood echoed with relief.

My breakfast turned into butterflies.  “Hi, Mom.”

She raised the back of her bed, for a better view, and the motor sounded loudly in the quiet room.  When she was finished, she spoke softly to me, “Thank you for coming.  I didn’t expect it, you know.  I hoped you would come, but I didn’t expect you to.  Let me look at you.  Come over here and sit, so I can talk to you.  Here.”

She pointed weakly at the chair closest to her bed, which was to my right, and I sat down after scooting it to face her more directly.  Giselle sat in the chair to my left.

She examined me.  “You stopped coloring your hair.  I approve.”  I must have looked surprised because she informed me, “I kept in regular contact with your father until the day he died.  I always knew what you were up to.  Your father even sent me photos.  Does that surprise you?”

“Yes, a little.  I knew you kept in touch when Giselle was young to arrange her visits while I was at school, but I didn’t know it continued.”

She nodded as much as the bed would allow and waved her hand vaguely at my head.  “That hair.  Just like my father.”  She sighed heavily and continued to speak, even though every word was an obvious effort.  “You got more than just his coloring, you know.  Did your father ever tell you?  Grandpa Giordano had magic too.  I’ve never liked speaking of it—those were dark times for me—but I thought you should know.  Your Grandpa communed with the dead.  For some reason, his ability got stronger later in life, maybe because he had started drinking, I don’t know.  By the time I was twelve, he frequently became possessed by the spirits of the dead and scared us so badly one night that Momma—your grandmother—finally left him.  In thiddle of the night we slipped away and never went back.  We lived with Aunt Heidi for several years until Momma remarried.  Grandpa Giordano eventually drank himself to death.”  Talking so much seemed to sap her strength.  Mom closed her eyes, breathing heavily, as though she had just run up several flights of stairs.

I glanced at Giselle significantly, and she nodded in acknowledgement.  She whispered in my ear, so Mom couldn’t hear.  “She told me a couple of days ago.  I think because she was worried that she might not get a chance to tell you herself.”

When I looked back at Mom, she was breathing easier.  After a moment, she opened her eyes again.  “Sorry.  So tired.”  She sighed.  “I have so much to tell you.”

“It’s okay, Mom.  I'm not in a hurry.  You should take your time.”  I realized, belatedly, that she didn’t exactly have much time left and mentally gave myself a smack upside the head for saying it.

Mom grimaced as a hoarse sound escaped her lips.  I was startled to the edge of my seat, ready to jump up for the nurse, when I realized that she was laughing.  I felt Giselle pat my shoulder, and I turned to see her looking at me sympathetically.  I settled back into my chair and tried to relax.  My cheeks were burning.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

Mom waived away my apology with her hand.  “Are you still running your paranormal business?”

“Yes.  It's going well.”

“Good.  I’m glad you were able to find something positive to do with your magic.”  She hesitated slightly on the word ‘magic’, probably substituting it for ‘disability’, which was her usual reference.  “Your father and I worried that you might end up living your life away from people and their things.  It really does please me that you were able to overcome those difficulties.  I know it must be hard for you to believe that I care one jot about you, much less love you, but it’s the truth.  I’ve always loved you, even if I didn’t show it.”  She stopped to take several shuddering breaths.  When she opened her eyes, I noticed tears had formed in the outer corners of her eyes.

“Before I go, there’s one thing I’d like to know.”  She toiled at each word now, clearly having difficulty with continuing.  I leaned forward instinctively, hoping that she would take the cue and speak more softly to conserve energy.  Mom nodded and continued in a quieter tone, barely more than a whisper.  “All those years, you knew my secret, my guilty secret, and yet you never told Giselle or your father.  Why?”

“Because of the way you treated me, you want to know why I didn’t say something?  Why I didn’t turn around and seek revenge?”  I felt it necessary to voice the part of the question she still couldn’t bring herself to say.  She was dying, but certain things could not remain unsaid.  There were too many bad memories to shove them all under the carpet.

“Yes.”

I looked down at my hands and clasped them together when I noticed that they were shaking.  “At first I didn’t understand what I saw, but when you reacted so angrily, I knew it wasn’t something to talk about.  I never forgot the horror in your eyes when you realized my discovery and the nature of my…ability.”  I sighed heavily and forced myself to look into her eyes.  “When I read you, I not only discovered your secret, but also your overwhelming guilt and self-hatred for what happened with Uncle Byron.  Your greatest fear was that Dad would find out.  I loved you.  I didn’t want to hurt you, so I resolved to keep quiet and never mention it again, to you or anyone.”  I paused, struggling to keep my voice even.  “Laterwhen you had distanced yourself from me, I didn’t tell Dad because I loved him and didn’t want to hurt him.  Besides, as unhappy as I was, I had no desire to see you guys divorce.  For all I knew, Dad would have left me as well as you and then I’d have had no support at all.”

Mom closed her eyes and turned away with her hand covering her mouth in an effort to hide her tears, but they flowed freely down her face, and she tried unsuccessfully to choke back her sobs.  I had managed to keep my emotions in check, but seeing her cry was devastating.  The stress of holding back twenty-three years of tears was too much.  Giselle and I wept openly along with her.  Eventually our tears subsided, and Mom drifted off to sleep.  Giselle and I sat silently, too stunned and emotionally wrecked to do much of anything but watch Mom sleep.

Eventually, Giselle and I quietly moved our chairs so we were able to get up and went down to the cafeteria for some coffee, stopping at the restroom first for a bathroom break and to check our makeup.  Since we'd had such a large breakfast, neither of us was especially hungry, even though it was getting close to the lunch hour.

We didn’t say much, I was engrossed with childhood memories and speculation about whether Mom would have told me all this if she were healthy and happy and living in Hillsborough.  Giselle was obviously grief stricken and stressed about Mom’s condition.  For a moment of reconciliation, it wasn't particularly happy.

When we got back to Mom’s bedside, she was awake and telling the nurse that she wasn’t hungry for lunch.  Instead of just bringing the lunch trays automatically, I guess the nurses checked with the patients first.  Hunger and digestion probably tend to take a backseat when you’re dying.  That thought brought me up short.  What was I thinking?  It didn’t matter whether Mom was encouraged to reconcile because she was dying.  The fact that she thought it was important to tell me she loved me before she died was something to cherish.  Her motivation was unimportant.  The fact that she loved me enough to invite me to her deathbed was what mattered.  The awful memories were not likely to be forgotten, but it was time for me to stop dwelling on them and to forgive.

For both our sakes.

When the nurse left to query the next patient, we sat back down in our previous positions.  Now that I had turned aside my resentments, I was able to give Mom a smile that came from my heart for the first time since I was a small child.  She seemed to look a bit perkier and responded with a smile of her own, albeit a dim echo of its former brilliance, but it warmed me nonetheless.

“Clotilde…”  Mom's eyes welled up with tears again, and she blinked them away.  “I was scared of you, you know.  I spent the better part of my young life being terrified of magic because of my father, and here I was with a psychic for a daughter.  That you knew my secret only compounded the problem.”  She gasped emotionally and continued, still working to get the words out.  “I’m not offering excuses, just telling you how it was with me.  Now I can look back and wish I had been stronger, but back then…back then my emotions just took over.  I let my fear guide my actions, destroying everything I cherished most.”  Mom looked at me intently and whispered through her tears, “I’m sorry I wasn’t stronger.”

I just looked at her and nodded, my own eyes betraying me again and not trusting myself to speak.  I pulled several tissues from the box on her bedside table and handed one to Mom and Giselle, mopping my own eyes with one I reserved for myself.  When I had recovered sufficiently, I told her, “Mom, I forgive you,” and I knew it was true.

Mom closed her eyes and criedilently, and I placed my hand gently on her shoulder.  Giselle leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.

With a trembling sigh of relief, Mom opened her eyes and looked at Giselle.  “I love you dear.  Don’t worry about me.  All my prayers have been answered now.  I’ll be watching over you and your family.  You’re a good mother, much better than I was.”  She smiled weakly.  “You’re going to have a beautiful baby boy.”

At that, Giselle broke down completely, unable to say anything in return.

Mom rolled her head toward me and labored to continue, “Clotilde…my beautiful baby girl.  I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner…I love you.”  After saying those words, Mom closed her eyes and said simply, “So tired,” before falling asleep again, but not before I whispered in her ear that I loved her too.  And I know she heard me because she smiled.

Without waking again, Mom died at three forty-eight that afternoon while Giselle and I sat at her bedside.  When the end finally came, there were more tears shared between us, and I told Giselle that I was grateful she had called me.  My unspoken regret was that it hadn't happened sooner.

Giselle asked me to stay to help with the arrangements, deal with some estate issues and attend the funeral, so I changed my flight and hotel reservations.  On the day of the funeral, I felt slightly self-conscious with most of our family and friends knowing that I had been estranged from Mom.  Giselle was so affected by our reconciliation that her favorite topic was our tearful reunion the day Mom passed away.  The day was filled with many tears, a few laughs and more people than I could count wanting to express their sadness and sympathy.

By the time I left for the airport late Saturday morning, Giselle’s little boy cried at my departure, and Giselle and my eyes weren’t exactly dry either.  We promised to keep in touch, and I tentatively accepted her offer to spend Thanksgiving with them.  Even the lingering depression of Mom’s death, the long lines at the airport and the annoying bureaucracy associated with traveling with Red couldn’t dispel the feeling that all was right with the world.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Seattle greeted me with overcast skies and a thin drizzle that kept getting into my eyes, even when I looked down and used my hand as a shield.  It was hard not to miss the warmer, drier weather of California, but it felt great to be home.  I was even looking forward to doing laundry and housekeeping.  Pathetic, I know, but sometimes the mundane things are the most comforting.

When I walked into my kitchen, I saw from a distance that my telephone answering machine light was blinking furiously.  Each flash represented one message, so I deduced that I had several.  I left my suitcase next to the stairs, put my purse down on the couch so Red could climb out and plopped myself down in the chair by my kitchen desk.  The machine beeped loudly after I punched the play button and told me that I had eight messages.  Three were hang-ups, one was my friend Claude (how's it going), one was from Jack (so sorry to hear about your Mom), one from Veronica (I heard about your Mom from Jack—let me know if there’s anything I can do), one was from Vince (Jason’s parents are going to have a necromancer examine the remains—call me when you get back), and the last was from Julie (don’t forget the party tonight—call me).

I smacked my head with the heel of my hand.  I had forgotten about the party.  Of course I didn’t blame myself too much, especially with what had been going on in the past week, but I definitely needed to call Julie.  I had forgotten to call her when I learned thatMom was in the hospital.  I considered the party.  Did I really want to go?  Unexpectedly, yes.  I didn’t want to sit home alone, and a party sounded like fun.  I checked my watch.  It was four-thirty.  I had plenty of time to do a few loads of laundry, work out and make myself presentable, but first I needed to call Julie.

Julie was suitably shocked to hear about my Mom and wanted to know how I was feeling.  I ended up telling her everything, and her kindness reminded me how lucky I was to have a friend like her.  When I mentioned that I was still planning to come to the party, much to her delighted surprise, she pointed out that Glen was probably going to be there.  Julie gushed that she couldn’t wait to see Glen’s expression when he saw my new look.  I smiled at the subtle way Julie was directing me.  The last thing she wanted was for me to show up in sweats, only to be embarrassed when my ex walked in.  Julie was looking out for me as any sensible best friend would, and I appreciated it.

My workout was half-hearted, just fifteen minutes on the treadmill, but I also e-mailed Jack, Veronica and Claude with a quick update, folded two loads of laundry and emptied the dishwasher.  By the time I started to get ready for the party, I felt quite virtuous.  (I elected to put off the final chore of telephoning Vince until the next day, but I didn't let that interfere with my feeling of accomplishment.)  Before heading to the shower, I briefly considered asking my charming and heartbreakingly handsome friend Claude to go with me to Julie's party.  I decided that he'd end up flirting with every woman in attendance, instead of giving Glen something to chew on, so I nixed the idea.  I know.  I know!  Glen was old news, but rejection isn't easy to get over.  It was petty and vindictive, but I wanted to make Glen regret dumping me, more than anything.

With a monumental sigh, I headed to the bedroom.  After a long shower, a deep conditioning treatment and fifteen minutes wielding my hair dryer, I was happy with the way my hair turned out.  Puffed up by my success, I headed toward the closet to pick out a supreme party outfit worthy of InStyle Magazine.  Sadly, my confidence quickly evaporated as I tried on and modeled at least seven potential outfits in the bathroom mirror.  Seven?  I don’t know, maybe it was more.  It seemed like more.  The red dress was a tiny bit too tight.  When did that happen?  Didn’t I just wear that a few weeks ago?  Maybe it shrunk at the cleaners.  The black skirt did nothing but accentuate my hips.  Good grief.  What was I thinking when I bought those cropped, green pants?  I didn’t have any shoes to go with the DKNY pantsuit.  The brown knit slacks showed my underwear lines, and I didn’t feel like dealing with the joys of thong underwear, which meant that the pink skirt was out of the running too.  I think I came close to plucking out individual eyelashes in frustration.

On the seventh trip to the mirror, I was feeling downright depressed and ready to start throwing things at my reflection.  I paused hopefully in front of the mirror before turning slowly to consider every angle.  Finally, I hit pay dirt.  The dark wash designer jeans and deep purple cashmere sweater looked okay.  I sighed and reminded myself for the umpteenth time that, although I might not be super-model material, I still looked pretty damn good.  I recalled that the sales woman in the Nordstrom psi-free department seemed envious when she told me that the formfitting twinset showed off my figure nicely.  I just hoped she wasn’t saying so to get the sale.

After rechecking my makeup for the third time, I made myself go downstairs.  If Red hadn’t complimented me on my appearance, I might have resigned myself to a bowl of popcorn and a pay-per-view movie, but he told me that I looked lovely.  Not only that, but Red wenton to express his certainty that Glen was going to be overwhelmed with regret.  Although Red's lexicon has evolved over the past three hundred years, he occasionally slips into 17th century speech patterns, which I always find endearing.

“Doubt not that every man in the room will be stunned speechless at your arrival.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” I replied, but it was a pleasant thought.

Red dutifully climbed into my purse.  I briefly bemoaned the necessity of having to carry the large satchel at the party instead of just tucking my driver’s license and some cash into my pocket, but I never left Red home alone.  My long wool coat was hanging on the tree by the door.  I detested driving while confined in the thick, restrictive fabric, so I draped it over my arm to carry down to the car.  I’d just have to freeze until the heater kicked in.  Truthfully, I took the coat just in case I broke down on the side of the road, not because I actually intended to wear it.

It was almost eight forty-five when I approached Peabody’s Beans.  At this hour, it was easy to find street parking.  I enjoyed hearing the solid clacking of my high-heeled ankle boots on the sidewalk as I walked the short distance to the lit storefront.  The closed placard was up in the window and an additional sign hung on the door, so that there was no confusion that this was a private affair.  Inside, the party was going full swing.  It officially started at eight, and the boisterous atmosphere welcomed me when I opened the heavy glass door.

Several heads turned, and I self-consciously made an effort to ignore the surprised expressions and sidelong glances all around me.

I busied myself with hanging my coat on the rack by the door, using the small task to distract me from the (somewhat) unwanted attention, and tried to keep the embarrassed grin from my face.  Just then Julie ran up, along with two other friends of ours, Laura and Trinny, and saved me from feeling awkward.  They gushed at my new look while I struggled to smother the inane grin all over again.

While we huddled together, Julie said, “Don’t look now, but when you came in, Glen’s chin just about hit the floor.”  We all laughed together conspiratorially.  “He’s mostly recovered now, but he keeps glancing over, trying to get a better look.”

I gave Julie a satisfied smile.  “I only wish I could have seen it myself.”  I straightened up and dismissed the subject with a pushing gesture.  “Okay.  That’s enough of that subject.  He is such old news anyway.”  I gave them my best haughty expression before letting my face fall back into geniality.

“That’s my girl!”  Julie beamed at me.  “Come on girlfriend, let’s get you a drink.”

Trinny and I trailed Julie and Laura further into the store, where I received several hoots of approval and a wolf-whistle that must have come from Jimmy Dubane.  Still smiling ear to ear, I shook my head and mouthed “thank you” to Julie’s brother, Tom, who told me I looked positively delicious.  I was looking forward to things settling down a bit.  My cheeks were sore from smiling so much.

Julie and Steve knew how to put on a spread.  The back counter and an additional nearby table were laden with several platters of hors d'oeuvres, chips and salsa, pretzels, a cheese ball and a vegetable tray.  A large galvanized tub was on the floor, near the wall, with beer and various sodas.  At the end of the counter, a striking octagonal glass decanter contained Julie's delicious spiked punch.  The jar stood on a decorative metal stand and had a pretty filigree lid and metal spigot.  Very clever.  Julie must have acquired the beverage server recently because this the first time I'd seen it.  The near disaster of last year must have been on her mind.  Steve's friend, Owen, had used his bare hands to put ice into the open punch bowl.  Fortunately, Julie noticed it before I had time to ladle myself a cup.  I'm sure she was hoping the lid on this one would prevent inadvertent touching.

While I chatted with Trinny, I opened the spigot and let the pink-tinged punch pour into my cup.  It had been several months since I had seen her, so we got caught up.  Trinny was one of Julie’s college friends, an extremely thin woman with stick straight brown hair, wonderful, clear skin and plain features.  She was dressed in a long, Asian style tunic over slim, tan trousers and looked incredibly stylish.  Trinny was in advertising.  Her firm had done some exceptional work for Jack and me, and we discussed her current client, Lyrics, a music store downtown.

It was when Trinny wandered off to the ladies room that Glen approached me.  I had already resolved to be amiable; after all, I was totally over him, right?  If I acted all bitchy, like part of me wanted, he’d only end up with an inflated view of himself.  So, when Glen walked up, I smiled and said hello, though not too brightly—I did not want him to think I was still pining for him.

No, my new look didn’t cause him to throw himself on my shoes and beg me to take him back.  He did compliment my appearance, and I think there was a small part of him that hoped to indulge in more than just conversation.  Okay, that last part was probably wishful thinking, but getting dumped had hurt big-time.  I think I was entitled to a little ego boosting.

Midway through my third cup of punch, I was starting to feel downright cozy.  Julie gave me a sharp nudge and inclined her head toward the front of the store.  Puzzled, I looked through the crowd and was shocked to see the tall, well-built figure of Vince Vanelli moving toward me.  His presence was so unexpected that I simply stood and stared at him, probably looking completely dumbfounded.

Julie whispered in my ear, “Close your mouth.  He’s going to think you’re already shit-faced.”

I recovered my composure and shot her a withering look before giving Vince a welcoming if not somewhat puzzled smile.

“Hey, Vince.  What brings you here?” I asked, but I was pretty sure I already knew.

“Hi, Lire.”  He nodded toward Julie.  “Julie invited me when I came down to get your coffee the other day.”

“Oh, did she?”  I looked sideways at Julie with a cocked eyebrow.

“Detective, nice to see you.  Help yourself to a beer or something.  Wait.”  Julie grabbed some napkins and wrapped my nearly empty cup, so he could touch it.  “Here, get Lire some more punch while you’re at it.  The refreshments are over there.”  She jerked her thumb past the group of people to her right.

He nodded.  “Okay.  Thanks.  Be right back.”  He called over his shoulder, “And call me Vince.”

I watched his back disappear beyond the gathering partygoers before whispering furtively at Julie, “I can’t believe you invited him!  What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking he was gorgeous!  And why wouldn’t I invite him.  You're working with him, aren't you?”

I took a steadying breath.  “Yes, but he’s also totally phobic.  I can’t imagine why he decided to come.”

Julie just looked at me as though I must have been dropped on my head as a child.  “He came because he’s interested in you.”  How she could be so confident, given my track record, I had no idea.  She added, “Besides, he suoesn’t act phobic.”

“Yeah, well…the only reason is because we figured out that I’m not able to get a reading from him.  So he knows he’s safe.”  I frowned with disapproval and glanced to see whether Vince was coming back yet.

When I looked back toward Julie, she was looking at me incredulously.

“What?”  Just why Julie was looking at me so accusingly, I couldn’t imagine.

“What?  Are you kidding?  He’s a normal and you can’t read him, and on top of that he’s gorgeous—and you didn’t tell me?”

Oh.  Well, put that way it did sound pretty amazing, but Julie hadn't spent the day getting turned off by his phobic antics and bullying.  “Julie, first of all, I don’t know if he’ll remain a closed book after extended contact, and…and he called my magic 'mumbo jumbo' for God’s sake.”

Julie gave me a look that was generally reserved for naughty children and husbands justifying their recent electronics purchase.  She nodded toward the drink table, and I turned to see Vince parting the crowd, drinks in hand.  She quickly mumbled under her breath, “Get over it, he is hot,” and then in a warm voice said, “Hey, Vince, I’m so glad you decided to stop by.  Make yourself at home, okay?  I’m going to tend to the drinks and check up on hubby-dearest.  Talk to you in a bit.”  Julie waved and disappeared into the fray, but not before shooting me an encouraging look.

Vince smiled tentatively and handed me my cup.  “So how was your trip?”

“Oh.  Well, not so good.  It was a family emergency trip, like I told you, and, well…my mother passed away, actually.  I just got in this afternoon.”

He looked at me sympathetically.  “I’m sorry to hear that.  Was it sudden?”

“For me it was.  I didn’t find out that she was sick until the day I left.  That was when I called you—Monday, I guess.”  Truthfully, it seemed like ages ago, not just five days.

“That must have been rough.  Was it cancer or something?”  A grieved expression crossed his face.  He held up his hand before I could speak.  “Sorry.  You don’t have to answer that.  Sometimes I forget I'm off duty.”

I smiled.  “That’s okay.  I’m feeling okay about it, I guess.  Yeah, it was cancer.  My Mom and I weren’t close; in fact, we hadn’t spoken with each other since I was a kid.  We had a chance to reconcile though, which was nice.”

I drank my punch and tried to scoot my feet around in my too-high heels.  “Do you mind if we sit?  I’ve been standing for a while and my feet are killing me.”

“Sure,” he said, and I led him toward a table away from the crowd.

Several other couples and a few larger groups were dispersed throughout the seating area, but I found an empty table for two in the middle of the shop, near the 360° gas fireplace.  I noticed Glen and a small group of his friends were gathered around a large table, several tables away, and took childish pleasure in knowing that he was sure to notice me with Vince.  Even if I wasn’t interested in him romantically, Vince made a great foil.  Not that I cared what Glen thought, but it was still fun.

Now that I was sitting, I disengaged my purse from my shoulder and placed it next to my chair.  I was definitely feeling really warm and loose, sore feet notwithstanding.  Julie’s famous punch wasn’t strong enough to worry me about getting too far gone, but I resolved to switch to soda after this cup.  After all my effort trying to rub Glen’s face in how great I looked, I didn’t want to ruin it by making a drunken f out of myself.

Feeling slightly awkward at facing Vince in what was obviously a purely social situation, I took the coward’s way out and brought up work.  “So, I got your message.  I guess you spoke with Jason’s parents?”

He nodded his head over his beer.  “Jensen and I went to their house.”

“Wow, that must have been terrible.  I mean, they knew he was missing, right?”

“Yes.  They filed a missing person’s report a couple days after his disappearance.  It wasn’t a complete surprise to them, but it was still a pretty bad scene.”  His face constricted into the grim expression of someone remembering something unpleasant.  “Jensen did most of the talking.  He’s better at handling that type of situation than I am.”

“So what did they have to say when you told them about my encounter with Jason?”  I sucked air sharply as I remembered my dream conversation with Jason.

I must have looked surprised because Vince was instantly alert.  “What is it?”

“I just remembered a dream I had, that’s all.”  I shook my head in disbelief and the world blurred momentarily.  Clearly, Julie's punch was having an effect.  “I was sitting on a porch swing with Jason and I asked him whether he thought his parents would believe the stuff about his soul.”  I reddened when I recalled what I was wearing in the dream and hoped Vince didn’t notice.  I took another gulp of the punch.

“Ah.”  He returned my wow-that-sure-is-weird look and then continued to answer my question.  “Well, hearing about your encounter gave them a bit of a shock, and they wanted to know details.  I told them that they could meet with you and gave them your number.  Like I said in my message, they also asked whether you might know of a trustworthy necromancer to examine his bones.”

“Yeah, Jake Milovavich.  He's supposed to be back from vacation, on Monday.  And we're going to waive our fee.  Just so you know.”  I wanted to make sure Vince didn't think I was going to profit from Jason's situation.

He nodded, but before Vince could make any further comments, Julie breezed up to our table with an expectant expression.  I knew that look—she was eager to gossip.  She squatted down, carelessly flopped both arms on the table, and peered up at me with an expression of excited anticipation.  I could tell she was a wee bit tipsy.  “Lire!  Steve just told me that Glen’s feeling more than a little sorry that he broke it off with you—the schmuck.”  She accentuated the word ‘schmuck’ with as much disgust as she could muster.  It came out sounding decidedly slushy.

I smiled smugly, and we giggled together like teenagers, our foreheads almost touching.  After a moment, she straightened up.  “Sorry Vince.  Important girl talk you know.  All right, go about your business.”  She made a ‘get on with it’ motion with her hand and then walked away toward the more lively part of the room.  I heard her yell something about playing a game of quarters before she disappeared beyond the crush of bodies surrounding the counter.

I turned my attention back to Vince, and he had one eyebrow raised in a quizzical expression.  “Who’s Glen?”

“My ex-schmuck.”  I cracked up into a fit of giggles before I could help myself and covered my mouth with my hand to stop from giggling any more.

Vince just smiled.  “Aha.”

Julie was such a stinker.  She did this on purpose.  I ignored him and took another sip of my drink.

“So where is this…schmuck?” Vince asked.

My eyesd toward Glen’s table.  Glen was standing, in mid-conversation with one of his friends, Mike Kilborn, with his back to us.  No one was looking.  “He’s over there."  I nodded toward the table in question.  “He’s the one with his back to us—dark hair, navy shirt.”

Vince discreetly glanced at Glen while I nervously drank my punch.  I tried to look elsewhere.

“Why did you guys break up?”  Before I could answer, Vince's eyebrows screwed down.  He added hastily, “Sorry.  Don’t answer that.  None of my business.”

“That’s okay.”  I waved away any thought of an offense with my hand.  “He decided that he was tired of dealing with all the necessary precautions of my magic.”  I tried to make my voice sound matter of fact, but I don’t think it worked because he looked at me slightly askance.

“Necessary precautions?”

Oh, right—Vince didn’t know these people.  Most of the time, it wasn’t apparent who was magically inclined and who wasn’t, by just looking.  Only clairvoyants had the disadvantage of needing gloves.

I shook my head and Vince’s face blurred.  “Sorry.  Duh.  You don’t know these people.  Glen is a normal.”

Somehow we always seemed to end up talking about my love life, but for some reason it didn’t bother me tonight; after all, Julie was the one who lobbed the conversation into our laps, so it wasn’t exactly an inappropriate topic.

Realization dawned on his face.  “So Glen must be like me.  He can resist your magic.”

“Uh, no.  That was the problem.”  Was I slurring my words?

Vince looked confused.  After a moment, he leaned forward slightly and asked, “If he was normal, then…uh, how does that work, exactly?  You can’t touch him, right?  Or am I missing something?”

Normally, this conversation was reserved for guys who were either interested in dating me, having sex with me, or just plain drunk.  Unfortunately, more often than not, it seemed to be the last reason.  It wasn’t clear why Vince was asking, so I chalked it up to his insatiable curiosity.

“There are ways.  That’s what Glen meant by necessary precautions.”  When I took another swig from my cup, I realized that it was almost empty.  I decided that was probably a good thing.  My lips felt a little numb.

The look on Vince’s face told me that he was wondering about the ‘necessary precautions’, but was unsure how to ask about it without pissing me off.  I stared at him, silently daring him to ask the question or move on to another subject.  He opened his mouth, thought better of it, and closed it, face pasted with curiosity.  Then he tipped back his beer and went through the whole ritual again.

Finally I got so annoyed with his vacillation that I leaned forward and blurted in a loud whisper, “Oh, for Pete’s sake!  One of us has to wear a skin suit, okay?  And the guy has to wear a condom.  No direct skin-to-skin contact.  Understand?”

He looked startled, and I realized with sudden clarity that I must be pretty drunk if I was saying something like that to a guy I had just met and professionally to boot.  But instead of being mortified, I started giggling at the look on Vince’s face.

When I settled down, Vince was smiling and looking at me with an amused expression.  “Okay.  Well, thanks for telling me.  I was trying to figure out how to ask you without pissing you off.  You weren’t too eager to answer stuff like this earlier in the week, you know.”

“Earlier in the week I wasn’t drrrunk.”  I raised my glss proudly with the slurred cheer before furrowing my brows at the cup.  “I don’t know how I could be drunk though.  Julie’s punch isn’t usually that strong.”

Evidently, Vince wasn't interested in solving the mystery of the intoxicated clairvoyant.  Instead he said, “So, you mentioned dating another clairvoyant who was able to block your power.  Was that before you dated the schmuck?”

It amused me that he continued referring to Glen as 'the schmuck'.  I smiled.  “Before.  A while before.  Um, ten years ago, I guess.”

“Ah.  How did you guys meet?”

“We were in college together.  He transferred in, during my junior year.  The psychic community is pretty small and close knit, so it didn’t take long for us to hook up.”  I was trying very deliberately to pronounce my words precisely.  I think I was successful.

“He was another clairvoyant?”

I nodded.  “Yep.  His name's Nick.”

“I think you said that you guys broke it off because one of you became more powerful.”

I probably should have been wary of Vince’s interest in my personal life, but I was quite pleased by his attentions.  “Yeah.  We didn’t know it at the time, but my powers hadn’t fully developed.  After about a year, we shl—uh, we slowly begin picking up bits and pieces from each other.  We tried to make it work, but…well, it was just impossible.”

My heart still felt a twinge whenever I thought about the day I first realized our powers were no longer equal.  The depression I felt after Nick and I were finally forced to call it quits, hit me incredibly hard and didn’t abate for months.  It was the first and only time that I truly contemplated chucking it all in and signing myself into a clean-room.  It also caused me to lose almost fifteen pounds, which might be thought of as a good thing, except that I was already thin at the time.  Anyway, it's not a weight loss method I'd like to repeat, even though I continued to remain one frustrating dress size away from my college weight.

“You guys keep in contact at all?”

“Mmmm.”  I nodded as I brought my attention back to the conversation.  “We talk to each other every month or so.  He lives near Coventry and works at the hospital doing psychic research.  We're good friends.”

Before he could ask me anything more personal, I shifted the conversation to his own love life.  “So what about you?  You have any serious relationships that crashed and burned that you want to share with me?”

He chuckled.  “Okay, I suppose I deserved that.  Sorry.”

“No, no, no.  Tit for tat.  I told you my sob story, now you.”  I was firm in my demand, although, my pronunciation was definitely messy.  I curled my fingers back and forth at him in a give-it-to-me-now gesture.

He looked down and shook his head in a combination of amusement and embarrassment.  “Okay, okay.”  He paused for a moment in thought.  “Well, I guess I've had a couple messy breakups.”  He shrugged and the gesture accentuated his well-muscled shoulders.

“Messy, huh?  Like Lorena Bobbitt messy?”  I eyed him slyly, although, as drunk as I was, it's possible I just looked like I was leering.  “You missing any vital parts, Vince?”

He laughed.  “Not the last time I checked.”  I noticed for the first time that he had a small dimple at the left side of his mouth.  It softened his masculine face and gave him a slightly boyish grin that I decided was quite sexy.

When he didn't offer further details, I proed, “So…emotionally messy.”

He shrugged and gave me a stiff nod.  “Yeah.  Possessive types just seem to gravitate to me, for some reason.”

“Really.”  I regarded him doubtfully.  “Like Fatal Attraction possessive types, or what?”  Outrageous breakup stories seemed to be on my mind.

He snorted.  “No.  Nothing that dramatic, or violent.”

Even though I was majorly curious, my politeness kicked in.  I guess I wasn't plastered enough to completely discard common courtesy.  “Uh huh.”  I shook my head and made a mental note not to do it again; my brains felt like they were sloshing around in there.  “So’re you dating anyone now?”

“Nope.”

My eyebrows went up when he didn’t elaborate.  Mr. Conversation.  When I stubbornly continued to stare at him expectantly, he shrugged.  “I’ve been working quite a bit lately, so I haven’t had much time to spare for socializing.”

“This party, the notable exception, of course.”  I waved extravagantly at the room.

“Of course.”  He smiled and saluted me with the tapered end of the beer bottle.

I placed my elbows on the table, leaned forward conspiratorially, and wagged my finger at him.  “But I don’t think I believe that you’re here just for my charming personality, no matter what Julie thinks.  So why did you really come?” I asked deliberately, with more directness than sobriety normally allowed me.

Vince’s eyebrows popped up suddenly, obviously surprised at my question.  “Lire…I think you sell yourself short—“

“Lire.”  Julie looked desperate as she swooped in from the crowd gathered at the back of the store.  “Best watch yourself with my punch.  Party animal John Lauten decided to spike it with some one hundred ninety proof Everclear that he picked up in Oregon, so it packs a bigger punch than usual.”

“Bigger punch!  Ha!  The punch packs a punch,” I slurred and then giggled.

Julie leaned closer and examined me.  “Crap!  I'm too late, aren't I?”

What?  Was I weaving?  Or maybe it was the goofy grin that was permanently affixed to my mouth.  “Much, much too late.  Yup.”

“Shit!”  Julie quickly looked uncertainly around the room and then motioned for Vince to come closer.  They stood next to me and Julie leaned toward Vince’s ear for a more private conversation.  I made the attempt to listen to her whispers, but only heard bits and pieces.  “Vince…help…she’ll…  If…does…embarrassing.  Uh—oh! …magic…amok…  In high school…drunk…  Ended up…hospital…”  She shook her head seriously.

I laughed at the comical look of distress on Julie’s face that oddly seemed to increase as she looked over at me.  “Oh, Julie, Julie.  Such a worry wart.”  I laughed heartily.  This time Julie didn’t join me in merriment, so I wound down after a bit.

Julie had turned her attention back to Vince.  “…touch anything, okay?  Thanks.”  She finished the discussion with a nod of her head and then turned toward me.  “Lire?  Did you park on the street tonight?  Give me your keys, hon.  I’ll take care of moving your car to our private lot.  Is Red in your purse?  You’ll have to get the keys for me then.”

After I gave her the keys (Red handed them to me), Julie pulled off the car key and handed the rest to Vince.  “Lire, Vince is going to take you home now.  I’ll call you tomorrow okay?”  She stared at me intently, and I had to stifle a bout of the giggles before she walkedway.

I stared after her, looking very confused, I’m sure.  Vince tapped me gently on my arm to get my attention.  I smiled at him broadly.  Gosh, he was handsome.

“Lire.  I think the ex is watching.  Try to keep it together.  Got a hold of your purse?  Stand up.  Let’s go.”

Vince guided me quickly to the door before I remembered my coat.  “My coat,” I mumbled.  With his help, I detoured to the coat rack to pull out the correct garment, which Vince kindly draped over my shoulders.

Before I knew it, we were out on the sidewalk, walking arm in arm down the street.  I leaned into his body, the alcohol making me quite languorous, and inhaled his scent.  He smelled warm and clean, and I detected something spicy, probably his cologne or deodorant.  “Mmmm, you smell yummy.”

“We’re almost there.”

True to his word, I was soon waiting for him to unlock and open the door to his Jeep.  I probably less than gracefully fell into his car, but I’m pretty sure that I caught him eyeing the view as I struggled to pull my coat out from under me.  I hoped it wasn’t because I looked ridiculous.

“What are you doing, Lire?”

“I hate…uh…having my…coat on in the…car.  Uh!”  Finally, it came free.  I buckled myself in and pulled the coat over me before Vince closed the car door.  I wasn’t so drunk that I didn’t remember to keep my neck from touching the headrest though.  My neck was sufficiently covered by my sweater and my hair.  I didn’t have to worry as long as I didn’t wiggle around too much.  While Vince settled in the driver’s seat and started the car, I snuggled under the coat for warmth.

I looked over at him and deliberately attempted to say my words clearly, but I think I only succeeded in speaking slowly.  “Thanks for getting me out, uh, without any…difficulty.”

“Any time.”  He smiled.  I caught a glimpse of that dimple and had to restrain myself from touching it with my finger.  Instead, I contented myself with staring at his profile.  When my eyes began roaming lower (and enjoying the view), my inner voice quietly told me to behave myself or…or…or what?  Whoa, my brain was fuzzy.  There was a perfectly good reason, I was sure.  Wasn’t there?

We pulled into the driveway of my apartment building, with only a few minor course corrections from me.  Fortunately Vince was familiar with the area and acquainted with the building if only by reputation, so my undivided attention wasn’t required; otherwise, it probably would have taken much longer to get there.

The security gate was closed.  After several attempts, I remembered my pass code for the gate, and Vince drove us into the garage.  He parked in my empty parking space and walked around the car to help me out.  That would have normally bothered me, but I couldn’t think why.  Before I had a chance to argue, Vince picked up my coat, deftly unbuckled my seat belt and pulled me out of the car.  Off balance, I stumbled into him.  Slowly, I realized I had been embracing him for several moments as I got my feet under me.  I backed up awkwardly and must have mumbled, “Sorry,” because he gave me another one of his amused smiles and said, “Any time,” again.

My little voice continued to send warning messages, which really irritated me, and I felt like swatting them away with my hands.  I covered my face and moaned instead.  I think I mumbled something incoherent about wanting to kill John Lauten for his cursed trip to Oregon.  This was definitely all his fault.

Vince placed his arm around me and guided me toward the elevator.  Once again I was breathingthe smell of him and trying not to have X-rated visions involving the two of us in various stages of undress.  Yikes!  I attempted to pull away, but Vince must have thought I was stumbling because he only pulled me closer.  Oh well, when in Rome…

As luck would have it, we ran into one of the building’s many armed security guards while I wavered in front of the security panel for the elevator.  Five minutes later, after Vince produced his badge and a lengthy explanation of our activities for the guard, I miraculously entered my pass code with no mistakes.

In the elevator, I leaned my body into his warmth and rested my cheek on the firm expanse of his chest, automatically letting my hair fall in between as a buffer.  I listened to his heart beat, with my eyes closed to slits, and had to stop myself from running my hands over his upper body, although, I couldn’t seem to keep myself from wrapping my free arm around his waist.  My body wanted what my body wanted, consequences be damned, and since my head was temporarily out of order, my body was finding ways to push the envelope.

The quiet bing of the elevator brought me out of my reverie, and I successfully pulled away from Vince’s embrace.  See, I could walk on my own, thank you.

I started fumbling at my purse when the familiar key jingling sounds brought my attention to Vince.  Oh yeah, Julie gave him my keys.  I murmured a thank you and received that amused smile again.  Yum.  No, no, no.  Something was not right.  I was forgetting something.

“Wait,” I said suddenly, and swayed in front of Vince, who was partway into my apartment.  “Can you come in?”

Vince looked slightly perplexed.  “I don’t know.  Can I?”

“Oh!”  I shook my head emphatically, almost losing my balance.  “Wait.  What I mean is…I can’t let people in without protection because they can’t be touching everything.  You know, this is where I live, uh, where I take off my gloves and stuff.”  I slapped my hand to my forehead.  “Ugh!  Am I making any sense at all?”

Vince backed up into the doorway, still looking slightly confused.  “Sure.”

“But what I’m wondering is whether you need it or not.  You seem to be different.”  I stood thoughtfully for a moment, possibly weaving in place.  “Okay, okay.  First I need to do a test.  Come in, but don’t touch anything.”

On unsteady legs, I beckoned him to stand inside my front entry and then closed the door and locked it.  I snatched my coat from Vince and then threw it and my purse to the floor before quickly removing my gloves.  “Okay, here we go.  If I pass out, try not to touch anything and put me on the couch.  Red can call Julie if I’m not fine by morning.”

“What?”  Vince was clearly worried about having to deal with another one of my unconscious episodes.

“Don’t worry.  I just want to test a theory.  If I can touch you while I’m drunk, then your resistance, or whatever, is good enough to let you in my apartment without wrapping you up like a mummy.”  I giggled at the image of Vince wrapped up in nothing but strips of cloth.

He backed up slightly when I started to reach for him.  “What did you mean about passing out?”  I guess my slurred explanation and bout of giggles didn’t inspire confidence.  Go figure.

I cocked my head to the side.  “Hmmm.  I think I won’t, but I guess it’s possible.  Like I said, just put me on the couch and lock up behind you.  Red knows what to do to take care of me.”

Vince didn’t look reassured, but I pounced on him and lost my balance in the pros, so he didn’t have much choice but to catch me.  When I got my feet under me, I reached up to touch his face with both of my bare hands.  My magic flared uncontrollably, and I had no shield to speak of because of my inebriated state.  However, like the previous occasion, there was no inflow of psychic information.  This was good news, but I wanted to see if extended touching was possible.  If I could touch him for more than a few minutes without any psychic effects, then he could go into my apartment and touch whatever he wanted.  This would be a first.  I never let anyone into my apartment without wrapping them in a full body suit, so you can imagine how often that happened.

“Don’t move,” I ordered.  After a moment of staring into his chocolate browns, I leaned the side of my head against my arm, so I didn’t have to make such intimate eye contact with him, although, my little voice failed to separate my body from his.  Part of me was more than happy to take advantage of the situation, and I fully enjoyed the line of warmth that played down my body where we were in such close contact.  I made myself focus on my magic, instead of how much I missed having uninhibited contact with a man.  My inner voice finally broke through my drunken state to sternly remind myself that, even if this worked, Vince was a magi-phobe and a business associate, therefore wasn’t a good romantic choice.  But (so far) this test proved that Mr. Right was out there somewhere and might possibly be a normal like Vince.

My body didn’t care what my little voice said.

I was startled out of my inner dialog by Vince’s warm hands.  One was gently gripping my waist from when he had steadied me from my earlier stumble, but the other had moved to stroke my upper arm.  My hands were still on his face.  “You’re not passing out on me, are you?”

Oops.  I had closed my eyes for a bit, I think.  I quickly removed my hands and straightened up.  “Oh, sorry.”

He chuckled.  “So, did I pass muster?”

I wrinkled my brows slightly.  “Yeah, like I thought.  You’re safe.  Come on in.”  I waved expansively.

As I weaved toward the living area, hitting lights where necessary, I noticed that Red was already in his favorite spot next to the couch.  He must have crawled out of my purse after I threw it on the floor.  Normally, I’d have felt incredibly guilty about throwing Red in a corner without a thought, but I was obviously not in my right mind.  Instead, I fell into the cushions next to him and pulled off my boots.

“Ooooh.”  I rubbed my sore feet.

While I bent over and massaged, I watched Vince through the veil of hair that had fallen over my eyes.  He was walking slowly about the space, examining the many antiques that I had collected over the years.  It was difficult not to acquire them after working in the industry for so long, especially when many of them were such a treat to touch and read.  I suppose that was what Ben Gibson envied, the fact that I could enjoy another world through my third sense.  Of course, many times the visions weren’t pleasant.

Vince had his back to me as he inspected the items in my eighteenth century display cabinet.  I sat up slowly and took the time to admire him surreptitiously.  He was dressed in faded jeans and a charcoal grey sweater with the sleeves pushed up.  I knew that there was a black tee shirt underneath the sweater.  The jeans fit him perfectly, and I appreciated the way they snugly fit his nicely muscled, uh, derriere.  Mmmm.  The little voice was back, but I told it to shut-up; after all, I was just looking.  What harm could come from looking?

“The rolling pin is from my grandmother.”  It was a beautiful chery wood rolling pin with black painted handles, and I absolutely cherished it.  Whenever I touched it, I got wonderful memories of my grandmother making pies for Dad and the family.

After peeking into my kitchen, he wandered over to the couch and made himself comfortable.  I noticed that he sat not quite a full cushion away from me; not far enough to be considered unfriendly, but not close enough to be presumptuous.

“So what was the test at the door all about?” he asked.

I curled sideways on the couch to face him and focused intently on the words coming from my mouth.  “Since I didn't get a reading after touching you for so long, I know you're not going to leave any psychic reshi—uh, residue in my apartment either.  So, I knew it was safe to let you come in.”

“What do you do for someone who doesn’t pass the test?”

“It’s never come up.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“You’re the first persh—uh, person I’ve ever had over without a skin suit.”

Both of his dark eyebrows shot up.  “How long have you lived here?”

“Uh, five years I guess.”

“And you’ve never had anyone over?”

“I’ve had a few visitors—they just can’t come in without wearing a full body suit.  Julie’s been here once or twice.  My Dad shortly after I moved in.  And my neighbors next door.  Maybe a workman or two.”  I sighed and attempted to smooth my hair behind my ears with hands that felt somewhat unresponsive.  “I don’t usually invite anyone up—it’s just too much of a pain.  Most people don’t want to be shwa—uh, swaddled up from head to toe.”

Vince just shook his head in amazement.  If he hadn’t realized just how special it was that I could touch him at all, psychic or not, he surely realized it by now.

After a brief pause, he grinned slyly and asked, “So how are you feeling?”

“Ohhhh, just fine.  Thanks for asking.”  I giggled while I touched my lips.  “My lips aren’t feeling so numb, so maybe that’s a good sign.  Hmmm, well, I guess I’m pretty drunk.  I'm sure you've noticed.”

Vince laughed.  “Well, you know the trick to avoiding a hang-over, don’t you?”

I didn’t, but I was all for trying it out.  “Uh, no.  I guess I don’t.”

“Don’t go to bed drunk.”

“Don’t go to bed drunk,” I repeated.  This made absolutely no sense to me whatsoever.

“Sure.  My theory is that one of the reasons you feel so bad in the morning is because your blood doesn't circulate as well when you're sleeping.  I think it keeps the alcohol in your system longer.  But if you stay awake and burn off the alcohol before going to bed, you won't feel as bad in the morning.”

I looked at him dubiously, but figured anything was worth trying to avoid feeling like road-kill in the morning.  I twirled my hand in the air.  “Uh huh.  Well, then sober me up quick because I’m really lagging.”

All I could think about was how I wanted to throw everything off and climb into my cozy bed.  Well, I'll admit that Vince’s body and kissable mouth figured in there somewhere too, but mostly I was just thinking about going to sleep.  I guess that was a sign that my inner voice was getting more of a foothold in my oversexed, addled brain.  Either that or I was too shit-faced drunk to stay on one track or the other.

“How about some coffee?” Vince suggested.

“I guess tha means I should get up.”  I stuck out my lower lip.

“You want a hangover or not?”

“Oh, all right.”  I moved so that my back was against the couch cushions and then held my arms straight out.  “Help me up.”

“Lazy,” Vince scolded, but he got up and moved in front of me.

Vince gently pulled on my outstretched hands, but instead of sitting up, I just gave him a devious smile and giggled.  He gave me a mild look of exasperation.

“Come on.”  He sounded like he was talking to a small child.

“You know, you’re very cute when you’re annoyed.”  Will the drunken idiot please stand up?  I giggled and sat up.

Vince heaved unexpectedly, and I ended up falling into him for the second time that night.  Or was it the third?  This time, however, I was pretty sure he did it deliberately.

I clutched at his terrific chest and fumbled with pushing myself upright.  “You did that on purpose!”

He just chuckled.  “Would I do that?”

“Yes, you would,” I decided and walked more or less straight toward the kitchen as Vince laughed softly behind me.

It probably took me twice as long as usual, but I brewed a fresh carafe of coffee with no interference from Vince.  I sent him on a sightseeing tour of the rest of my apartment, so I didn’t have to feel scrutinized.  He got back as I was pulling two coffee cups from the wrought iron stand.  The cream and sugar were already on the kitchen table, although, I left the half-and-half in its cardboard carton, instead of pouring some into a decorative server.  The perfect hostess in me lamented my drunkenness.  I had a cream decanter in the shape of a cow.  When you poured from it the cream came out of its mouth.  It was stored on a high shelf, but I didn’t dare attempt to get it down.  I don’t know what possessed me to buy it—it wasn’t like I got many visitors for coffee.

“I like your place.  A lot of the lofts I’ve seen are too industrial for my taste, but this is nice.”

“Thanks.”  I carefully put the cups next to the coffee maker.  “Here.  You better pour.”

The sound of spoons clinking against ceramic echoed through the kitchen as we sat at my weathered pine farmer’s table and fixed our coffees the way we liked them.  I took cream and two sugars.  Vince, I noticed, drank his with just a splash of cream.

“So when was the last time you saw your ex-boyfriend Nick?”

Him again?  I thought about it for a few seconds.  “I don’t know.  Almost a year ago, maybe.”  I narrowed my eyes at him.  “Why the fashi—uh, why the fascination with Nick?”

He shrugged.  “Just curious.  It seems like he was a pretty significant person in your life, that’s all.”

“Uh huh.”  I wasn't quite convinced.  “Well…the last time I saw him was when he was in town for a seminar or something.  We met for lunch.”  I looked at him pointedly.  “You know, we’re just friends now.”

Part of me was happy to believe that Vince was interested in me romantically.  Why else would he be asking about my previous flames?  But the other, more suspicious part, the part with the little voice, was not so naive.  There was something about his demeanor that wasn’t quite right.  I suspected (maybe even hoped) that Vince found me attractive, but somehow I didn’t think that he was the type to care one jot about my previous relationships; especially ones that ended in a break-up ten years ago.  I must have sobered up a little if I had enough sens to be suspicious.

“But I don’t think that’s why you’re asking about Nick.  Is it?”

The same question kept running through my mind like an annoying song.  Why is he so interested in Nick?

Realization finally dawned on me.  “You bastard!  You think Nick is the murderer.  That’s why you’re so interested in him.  And you figured you’d get together with me while I was sure to be having some drinks and…and letting my hair down, and…  Uh!  Pump me for information!”  I stood up suddenly.  “And to think I actually thought you were interested in me!  God!  I am such an idiot!”  I careened around the room and slapped the palm of my hand on my forehead.  “Ugh!  If it wasn’t for that pea-brain John and his freaking Everclear, I’d have figured it out sooner!”

I looked over at Vince, ready to yell at him to get the hell out of my house, but the expression on his face stopped me short.  It wasn’t the look of guilt and resolve that I expected, instead his face showed a disturbing mixture of sadness, pity and sympathy.

With my tirade over, Vince stood up slowly and explained, “I've been trying to find a way to tell you.”  He looked down at the table.  Something bad was coming, and somehow I knew it was worse than knowing that the police suspected my friend and former lover of murder.

“Lire, I’m sorry…we just connected a murder in Coventry County to our investigation.  Your friend Nick…I’m afraid he’s…”

I guess with the stress of my mother’s death, my experience with Jason earlier in the week and the lingering effects of the alcohol—my brain decided to take a brief hiatus.  The room spiraled sickeningly, and I barely registered the fact that my knees collapsed underneath me.  To make matters worse, on the way down, I somehow managed to smack the side of my face soundly against the kitchen island.

“Owie.”  My voice was pitiful, and I started crying.  The pain of my face didn't matter.  All I could think about was the fact that one of my dearest friends was dead.

Although we were no longer lovers, Nick and I shared a bond that was never broken, even after our relationship ended in heartbreak.  Because of our mutual gift, we had many things in common—our early experiences were very similar, and, of course, we endured the same daily challenges.  Nick and I regularly commiserated about the more personal problems associated with being a clairvoyant, which kept our relationship intimate, even though we were no longer romantically involved.

We had jokingly agreed, a year or two after our breakup, that if we reached retirement age without finding our skin-to-skin soul mate, we’d get married and live in joint halves of a refurbished duplex.  I can't tell you how many of our conversations started with one of us saying in disgust, “Remind me again…just when are we buying that duplex?”  Although we continued to joke about the duplex, over the years it had become less jest and maybe a little more serious.  I'll be honest, when my romantic prospects were particularly bleak or I was feeling lonely, it was comforting to know that Nick was there for me, and I know he felt exactly the same way.

I sat on the cold floor and grieved, not only for the loss of my friend and confidant, but also for the future that was no longer a possibility.  Although, it wasn't the ideal future that either Nick or I wanted, I felt cheated nonetheless.  In my sorrow, I built up our future in my mind—made it into something more than just a joke.  I was determined to feel wretched.  I felt more than entitled; but the more I thought about Nick and our relationship, the angrier I became.  Slowly, my sorrow turned to rage my heart grew cold as I resolved to make the murderer pay for the misery he had sown.  There was no doubt—the murderer was going to pay.  Not only for Nick's life, but for Jason's life as well.  My decision was irrefutable.  I was going to see to his downfall, no matter what the consequences.

When Vince sat down beside me and put his arm around my shoulders, I pulled away and regarded him with narrowed, red-rimmed eyes.  I hitched as I spoke, but my pitiful sobs had subsided.  “Tell me what you know.”

Vince, momentarily surprised by my sudden change of mood, appraised my face briefly before saying, “I'll tell you, but first let's get some ice on your cheek.  You'll be sorry later if we don't.”

The flood of sorrow had temporarily masked the pain, but, now that I was in control of myself, the injury was really starting to hurt.  I carefully touched the area below my eye and felt a large bump, directly over my cheekbone, covered with tears.  It throbbed painfully.  I realized that I must look a sight—bloodshot eyes, mascara tear tracks, and a blossoming bruise—but I hardly cared.  My angry determination eclipsed all other concerns.  Anyway, Vince’s interest in me was purely pretense.  He had gone to the party just to get information from me about Nick.  Now, it was his turn.

I nodded stiffly, and Vince helped me back into my kitchen chair before making an ice pack.  In response to his query, I numbly pointed at the drawer that contained the plastic sandwich bags.  While he rustled around in the ice tray and filled the plastic bag, I grabbed the tissues from the kitchen desk and used one to wipe away the tears, along with a fair amount of running mascara, and blow my nose.  I resisted the urge to go to the bathroom and check on my face because it was bound to upset me and make me even more self-conscious.

When Vince handed me the towel-covered bag of ice, I nodded my thanks and carefully nestled it against my right cheek.  It took a moment, but eventually the towel felt cold and began to numb the pain slightly.

Before Vince had reached his seat across from me, I demanded, “Tell me.  How did Nick die?  Was it the same as the others?”

He sat down and looked at me thoughtfully before answering.  “Yes.  As far as we can tell, it's the same MO.”

“Where was he found?”

“I haven't been to the location, but I understand that his remains were found not too far from his house, up in the hills.  Unincorporated county land.”

“Was there anything different at his scene?  Anything that stood out in the report?”  A hint of desperation leaked into my voice.

Vince shook his head.  “No.  I read the reports thoroughly.  They have no leads.”

I was suddenly very tired.  I sagged forward and put my left elbow on the table while I kept the ice pack on my face.  “How did they confirm it was him?”

“His coworkers reported him missing.  The county matched the dental records.”

I closed my eyes, but I didn't cry.  I would not cry, dammit.  From here on out, my focus was set firmly on the drive to seek justice…by any means necessary.

“I'm sorry, Lire.  I wanted to tell you sooner, but…”  He sighed.  “I told you, I'm not good at this type of thing.”

I opened my eyes and looked at him sadly.  “Somehow I knew you weren’t at the party just to see me.  All those questions about Nick…”  I sighed loudly and shook my head with disgust.  “I want to be mad at you, but I don’t have it in me right now.  I just need to sleep.”  I wobbled slightly as I stood up.  's late.  Red can show you where things are if you want to stay over.  There isn't a guest room, for obvious reasons, but the couch is pretty comfortable.”

Vince's eyes softened.  “Thanks.  I'd like to take you up on that if you don't mind.  There are some things I need to do in the city tomorrow.  It'll be nice to not have to drive back home tonight.”

“That's fine.”  I waved toward the utility room as I headed toward the stairs.  “I'm pretty sure there's an extra pillow in the utility room.  Up on the top shelf.  You'll see it.  If one blanket isn't enough, there's another one up there too.”

I thought about offering him a tube of toothpaste, but I wanted to be done with this whole encounter.  I continued up to my room, instead.  If Vince said anything else, I didn't pay attention.  All I wanted was to crawl into bed and find oblivion, at least until the morning.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I woke up feeling chewed up and spat out.  The lump on my cheek felt like a softball-sized tumor when I ran my fingers over it gently, and my right shoulder ached deeply.  My head throbbed, but, so far, it wasn't too debilitating.  It was morning and the only good thing about it was the lack of a horrible hangover.  After ten minutes of growing accustomed to being awake, I sat up, brought my knees to my chest and rested my chin on them.  I recalled the previous evening and sighed sadly as I stifled the tears.  I resigned myself to the fact that the tears were going to be hovering just below the surface for the foreseeable future.  My life had gone through some unexpected turns in the last week—that was for sure.

Normally, I would have gone downstairs to make myself some coffee and breakfast.  Since I didn’t know whether Vince would be there to see me in my sleep tossed, hung over state, I decided to take a shower and get ready first.  With the Lump That Ate New York on my face, I was going to need all the help I could get.  Not that I care what Vince thinks, I thought angrily.  The sneak.

I approached the mirror warily as though someone might be hiding inside, waiting to pounce.  “Oh, no!” I exclaimed out loud when I finally peeked at my reflection.

Unhappily, I gently probed the lump that used to be my cheekbone.  A huge red bruise with blue highlights ran from just below my temple all the way to my cheekbone, and I could hardly wait to see it turn a more brilliant shade of purple as the day wore on.  The outside of my upper arm also had taken on a decidedly blue hue mixed with splotches of red.  It was no wonder my shoulder hurt.  I decided that I looked like a shoe-in for a domestic abuse victim.

I thought maliciously, I can’t wait to see the kind of looks Vince gets when we’re out together.  Not that we’d be hanging out in public any time soon, of course, but the thought had significant amusement value nonetheless.

I got ready in record time, but listened carefully for voices or sounds from downstairs before leaving my room.  After not hearing a peep, I walked slowly down the stairs.  I smelled the distinct aroma of fresh coffee, and my stomach lurched suddenly at the prospect of seeing Vince—here in my house…in the morning…after last night—ugh.

Mercifully, the kitchen was empty of Vince and so was the rest of the downstairs as far as I could tell.  I found Red sitting in his usual spot, reading a book.

“Good morning, Lire.  How are you feeling?”

“Well, not the greatest I’ve ever felt, that’s for sure.  So, uh, did Vince stay over last night or not?”

“Yes, he did.  He left about an hour ago.  There’s a note on the table for you.”  Red motioned toward the kitchen table.

Before reading the note, I poured myself a cup of coffee and fixed it the way I preferred.  I wished futilely for donuts and resigned myself to having a bowl of cereal instead, but it was a disappointing substitute.  When I finally sat down at the table, I read the note.  It was neatly printed in all capital letters on a piece of paper from my ST&C notepad.

Lire,

Thanks for the use of your couch.  If you need a lift later this afternoon to get your car, call me.

V.

His business card with cell number was included with the note.

Red climbed up his step stool to the top of the kitchen table.  “You’re eating.  You must not have much of a hangover.”

I shrugged and pushed the bowl away after another miserable bite.  “A bit of a headache, and, of course, my cheek hurts every time I chew or talk and my shoulder hurts when I move.  God, my life sucks.”  My voice broke as I shifted subjects, “I’m going to miss him so much, Red.”

“I know you will, dearest.  Nick was a good man, and I know he was a big source of support and comfort to you.  We will get through this.  You have had a difficult week, to be sure, but we’ll make it through.”  Red walked closer and patted my right arm.  It was my first cry of the day.  Sadly, I knew it wouldn’t be my last.

“Damn,” I hitched, “I told myself, last night, that I wasn't going to cry anymore.  At least, not until I personally find the murderer and grind him into the pavement.”  I wiped my eyes angrily, careful not to jostle my sore cheek.  “So much for that wild hope.”

“You aren't weakened by having strong emotions.”  Red handed me my napkin, and it came in handy as a hankie.  “You honor Nick with every tear.”

I smiled feebly at my beloved companion.  “I love you, Red.  Truly, I don’t know what I’d do without you.  If it weren’t for you, I know I’d be in a clean-room by now.”

“Knowing that I have made a difference in your life makes being a stuffed bear almost worthwhile.”

I looked at Red pointedly and observed, “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said anything remotely critical of your situation.”

“I have no desire to change the way things are, but there are times when I remember what it was like to be human and I miss it.”

This revelation took me by surprise.  Red had always been fairly closed lipped about his past and had never intoned in any way that he was not perfectly happy with his current situation.

When I reached my teens and had a better understanding of life and morality, I began to wonder whether Red’s servitude was something he truly wanted or just a unique form of forced slavery.  But when I asked Red if he wanted me to release his soul, he couldn’t answer my question because he was unable to say or do anything that interfered with protecting and serving me.  Since he cannot tell me whether he wants to continue his immortal life or be released, I’ve had to resign myself to providing him with autonomy in my will.

When I die, Red will be released from the binding spells and able to decide for himself whether to continue living in his current state or seek a necromancer to release his soul.  My will provides him with the money to live independently, should he choose to do so, with Julie’s help.  Julie, who I named as executor, understands my wishes, so I know that she will see that my will i followed to the letter and Red has what he needs, whatever he decides.  I realized sadly that my will was going to need to be updated.  Nick was named as a secondary beneficiary and caretaker for Red.  Now that I was on better terms with my sister, maybe I’d make her the second beneficiary.

My thoughts jerked from the details of my will back to the conversation at hand.  “If there was a way to make you human again…without committing a mortal sin, Red, you know I’d do it in an instant.”

He touched me with his paw.  “I know.”

I leaned my face down to the table and hugged him against my uninjured cheek.  It was times like these that I had to restrain myself from hugging the stuffing out of him.  He was so dear to me, and it was incredibly reassuring to know that Red would always be a part of my life.

After I had released Red from my urgent hug and rinsed out my bowl of cereal, I sat down at the small kitchen desk and telephoned Julie.  Through the pain of my increasingly sore jaw, I filled her in on my unfortunate evening.

“Oh no!  Poor Nick.  My God!  And what an amazing coincidence that you happened to be working on the same murder investigation.  Wow.  What are the odds on that?”

I sat very quietly, lost in thought.  “…are you there?  Lire?”

“He knew,” I said suddenly.

“What?  Who knew?”

“Vince!  That bastard!  I am so stupid!  Dumb, dumb, dumb!”  I punctuated each pronouncement with a bang on my head with the heel of my hand.  I stopped after the second bang—my headache was bad enough.

“I don't understand.  What did Vince know?  What are you talking about?” Julie asked.

I slammed my hand on the desk.  “Me being on the case!  It was no coincidence.  They knew about Nick this whole time!  That’s why they contacted me for help with the case.  They’re excuse that nobody else wanted to take the case was just a bunch of crap!  Oh yeah, and trusting ol’ Lire swallowed it hook, line and sinker.”

“But Lire, why would they go to all that trouble?  Why not just talk to you about it?  I mean, it’s not like you’d hold anything back.”  She paused and then gasped, “You don’t think…?”

“They’ve tagged me as a suspect.  They must have—otherwise, you’re right, they would have just come and talked to me and asked me some questions.  Well, they can just kiss my help good bye!”

Julie was quiet for a moment.  “That would serve them right, but you’re not going to do that, and you know it.”

“Oh yeah?  And why not?” I asked, even though I knew perfectly well why I needed to continue helping them.

“Because you need to help find Nick’s killer—to prove your innocence and because it’s the right thing to do.”

I breathed a heavy sigh into the telephone.  “I know.  Dammit.”

“This is terrible.  I wish there was something I could do.”

“No, it’s okay Julie.  It’ll be all right.”

“What are you going to do?”

I paused thoughtfully.  “I don’t know.  Play along, I guess.  Play dumb and keep helping them.  Even though what I’d really like to do is wring Vince's neck.”

“That schmuck!  I’m sorry I encouraged you to go for him, Lire.”

“That’s okay, Julie.  Thank God, nothing happened.  We came back to my place, and it wasn't long before the truth came out about Nick.”  I thought aout the whole business of hitting my face and cringed.  “Oh, and in my drunken state, I did a nosedive in my kitchen when he told me about Nick.  Smacked my head real good.”

“What?  No!  You did?  Are you okay?” Julie squeaked.

“Yeah.  I'll live.”

“I thought your voice sounded funny, but I thought it was just that you were feeling hung over.”

“I wish.  The side of my face is so sore; I can hardly open my mouth to talk.”

“Lire, that totally sucks.  I'm so sorry.  It's all my fault!  I should have kept more of an eye on the punch bowl.  I could kill John, right now.”

I laughed.  “Julie, it's not your fault.  And don't tell John, okay?  I don't want him to feel bad.”

Julie didn't say anything for a beat and then grudgingly agreed.  “Fine.  I won't yell at John.”  In a perkier voice, she asked, “Oh, I almost forgot.  How are you going to get your car?  You can leave it as long as you want, but I assume you’ll need it for work on Monday.”

“Oh yeah, my car."  I snorted.  “Vince left a note saying that I should call him if I needed a ride to pick it up.”

“Hmmm.  I guess if you’re playing dumb, you should probably take him up on the offer.”

I sighed.  “Yeah, I know.  I don’t really want to though.  Every time I think about him, I feel sick to my stomach.”

“Then don’t do it.  Give yourself some time.  I’ll bring your car later today, and you can drive me back home, okay?”

“Let me think about it, huh?  I’ll give you a call later and let you know what I want to do.”

After saying goodbye, I flopped on the couch next to Red’s small recliner, where he was reading.

I planted my elbows on the arm of the couch and perched my chin on top of my hands.  I looked down at Red and smiled gingerly.  The pain must have been apparent on my face, and I’m sure my expression looked unnaturally lopsided.

Red looked up at me.  “You should call Duran and ask her for a healing.  Your face must be quite painful.”

“It is.  I was thinking the same thing, and she owes me a favor after I appraised her mother’s antiques last year.”

Red tilted his head to the side.  “Lire, about Vince…I overheard your conversation with Julie and believe that you are only partially correct about his motives.”

“Oh?”

“I spoke with him at some length last night before he turned in.”  Red paused while he marked his place in the book he was reading and laid it in his lap.  “He was very intent on asking me what I knew about Nick, your past history together, and the nature of your recent relationship, however, I do not think that Vince considers you a suspect.  I believe his superiors were the ones to request your involvement in the case, in order to attain unsolicited information about Nick.  If Vince initially believed you were a suspect, I don’t think he believes it now.  In fact, he was quite uncomfortable with his duplicity, last evening in particular.”

“Good.  He should be ashamed of himself.  If I had any choice, I’d tell him, and all the rest, to sit and spin!”  I sat back and pounded my fist on the cushion in frustration.  “But Julie’s right.  Helping them find the murderer is more important than having the satisfaction of telling all the magic repressed, scheming assholes down at the Chiliquitham PD to go stuff it.”  I looked down at Red with a fierce expression.  “If it's the last thing I do, the warlocis going to pay for what he did.”

“You say warlock, but the murderer could just as easily be a witch.”

I chewed on the idea for a bit.  “I don’t know, Red.  Jason’s impressions were that it was a man.”

“Why?”

“Well, even though the magic user was wrapped in a heavy cloak and masked, the person’s stature seemed too large to be a woman.  Also, what Jason heard of the perpetrator's voice didn’t sound female, but I’ll admit, it was dark and Jason's focus was mostly on the demon.”  I shivered.

“So, it’s something to keep in mind, yes?”

“Yes.  I’ll think on it.  Thanks.”  I got up from the couch and stretched.  “Okay, time to give Duran a call.  God, I hope she’s home.”

CHAPTER NINE

When she opened her door and saw my injured face, Duran’s intake of breath was sharp.  We said our hellos and she quickly ushered me into the living room, where she had laid out all of her healing witcheries.

Duran was everything you expected to see in a Glindarian Witch if all you had for reference was the good witch from The Wizard of Oz.  Duran was a dark blonde beauty with flawless skin, blue eyes and a trim figure; however, instead of a puffball gossamer gown, tiara and sparkly wand, her attire was decidedly modern and so was her apartment.  I remembered my shock when I first stepped into her ultra-modern loft last year.  I had expected an apartment crammed with traditional furnishings all in pale tones and sumptuous fabrics.  Ha!  Can you say stereotype?  I realized sheepishly that even I had fallen victim to MGM's casting choice for the famous movie.  Although most Glindarians are good and some might even be blonde bombshells, I'm willing to bet that they don't all live in traditionally furnished castles.

Duran’s loft looked much the same as it did the last time I visited.  If she had added any new pieces or rearranged furnishings, I didn’t notice the changes.  On the way to the living room, I again marveled at the striking color scheme, counting three, no, four different hues used in the entry, living and dining rooms alone.  The effect was startling, but not off-putting; in fact, the colors managed to look good together.  Although it wasn’t my style of décor, I rather liked it.

The living room was a contrast of metal, leather and fur, done in black and shades of grey, all of which stood out dramatically against purple walls.  The couch protested loudly with the familiar scrunching sounds of leather rubbing on leather when I sat down to make myself comfortable.

Duran perched in the chair adjacent to the couch.  “I won't grill you right now.  I'm sure it's painful to move your jaw.  After the healing, I'll make some tea and we can talk.”

I nodded with relief.

For convenience, Duran placed a small leather ottoman next to me, between the couch and the coffee table.  She quickly sat and then held both hands a few inches from either side of my body.  I felt the small prickle of magic as she muttered a spell under her breath.  After ten seconds or so, she lowered her hands and regarded me with a serious expression.  I noticed that what little makeup she had on was focused around her eyes, which made them appear even more vibrant.

“Okay.  You have contusions on your face and upper arm, and some minor muscle injury to your shoulder and neck.  Is there anything I have missed?”

I knew she was asking purely out of politeness.  Her magic was strong enough to find any injury all the way down to a paper cut.

“No,” I said through my ever-stiffening jaw, “that about sums it up.”

She nodded.  “All right.  Lie back and I’ll see what I can do for you.”

Before I turned to recline on the couch, I got out a square panel of psi-free fabric from my pocket and placed it carefully over the fur-covered pillow.  As I settled down, I was surprised to find that the couch was quite comfortable, in spite of its sparse, modern design.

I watched Duran carefully select several different kinds of herbs and powders from the array of small glass canisters on the table.  The square containers were lined up neatly on a black lacquer tray, with each lid placed directly behind its corresponding canister.  The selected ingredients went into a diminutive grey pot, which was on a metal stand placed over a lit can of Sterno.  The pungent smell of the various herbs was strong, but not unpleasant.  As she brewed, Duran began chanting something in another language, and I assumed that it was one of the numerous witch dialects.

Slowly I began to feel the tingling touch of magic emanating from Duran’s machinations.  As she stirred the contents of the pot, her chanting became louder, more sing-songy and incredibly soothing.  Her voice was a beautiful soprano, gentle as the sound of freshly melted spring water trickling over the rocks of its streambed.  As my body grew distant, my consciousness transformed into a clear drop of water, trembling at the edge of the snow-bank, hanging precariously over the cold, clear water of that melodious stream.  I felt so incredibly alive and warm from the heat of the sun.  I was eager to be free—eager to join the rest of my kin in the roiling water—and I knew without doubt it was where I belonged.  It was where I needed to be.  As the sun warmed me further, I felt my clear capsule grow larger and heavier.  Soon I would be free.  I could feel myself stretching toward the stream.  I was almost there, almost free, just a bit more…aaaah, yes!  Abruptly the last bit of me melted.  I fell boundlessly toward the stream, fervent in my quest to join the collective and ever triumphant in my new independence.

As I joined the stream and churned carelessly over the time-smoothed rocks, I exulted in my freedom and the growing consciousness of my collective self.  I reveled in my increasing awareness and sense of power.  I felt each new drop of snowmelt, every bump and swirl along the stream-bed, the rubbing of my sides along the shores, and the immense expanse as I joined other waterways and became larger, wider and traveled faster toward the beckoning of the great ocean.

After sliding over countless rocks, moving through numerous eddies and meandering currents and spiraling down dozens of white water rapids, I slowly became conscious of the rhythmic pull of the ocean calling to me, beckoning me to merge with the regular churning of its interminable tide.  It was calling my name, over and over, louder and louder.  My name?

“Lire,” the voice called again, “Lire?”

I gradually grew back into my body, disconcerted by the sudden loss of freedom, and felt my shoulders given a firm nudge.  It took a few seconds of blinking back the light before I reconciled my location.  I was greeted with Duran’s clear blue stare, which was clearly wearing a mixed expression of relief and surprise.

“Wow.  What was that?” I asked as I struggled to a sitting position.

“I cast a vision spell.  Healing is painful to experience, so I plant the seeds of a soothing vision to distract the mind.  You went a bit deeper though.  Normally, it doesn’t take much to break the spell.  I had to practically shake you to dispel it.”  She cocked her head to the side.ng “You didn’t get a good night’s sleep last night, did you?”

“Actually, no.”

“Well, that’s probably why the vision was so intense, and why you were so hard to wake up.”

She moved to sit in an adjacent chair and then checked on the strength of the tea inside a pretty Raku teapot.  A wooden tray with two disposable coffee cups, plastic teaspoons, a plate of cookies and a container of packaged sweeteners had usurped the former position of the witchcraft items.  She had also removed the leather ottoman.

“You’ll need to take it easy today.  Stay in bed and sleep.  I supplemented only a little with my power, so your own body provided most of the energy for the healing.”

While she was talking, I realized that my face and shoulder no longer ached.  I raised my hand to search for the bruised lump on my cheek and was pleased to only feel the usual contours of my face.

I sighed happily.  “Oh!  That is so much better.”

Just as I was wondering if there was any bruising left, Duran gestured at the table in front of me.  “There’s a hand mirror right there.  Feel free to check yourself out.”

I picked up the mirror and thoroughly examined my reflection.  My green eyes stared back, and I was startled by how white the whites were.  I almost laughed out loud.  The healing even soothed my bloodshot eyes.  Wow.  Aside from looking a bit sallow from lack of sleep and no makeup, I looked my usual self.  I couldn’t have been more delighted.

“Thank you so much.  Going through the normal healing process would have been so awful.  Now I don’t have to explain through clenched teeth what happened to everyone I meet.”

“Except me,” she teased.  “Unless you don’t want to talk about it.”

I smiled.  “No, that’s okay.  It’s a little traumatic, but I don't mind telling you.”

Duran carefully handed me the insulated paper cup.  I noticed that she was thoughtful enough to wear gloves.  “Please, have some cookies too.  Everything is psi-free.”

I took a tentative sip of my tea before putting down my cup to take a cookie from the plate.  I savored my selection for a minute and then gave her the annotated version of the story.  I was pretty sure Vince and Jensen didn’t want me blabbing information about their investigation to all my friends, so I focused on Nick and our past history together.  I had to stop a few times to hold back the tears, but I made it through the conversation without any major waterworks.  Duran was very sympathetic.

“Do the police have any leads?”

“A few.  They think that magic was involved.  I’ve seen some of the crime scene photos, and I agree.”

“They showed you photos?  Was this before or after you fell and hit your face?”

I laughed at her incredulous tone.  “Well, several days before, actually.  They called me in to help them with another murder case.  Only last night, I learned that Nick’s death was connected to the same case.  It’s a long story.”

“Magic, huh?  That’s not good.  Do they know what spells were used?”

“No, they don’t.  I probably shouldn’t say too much.  I don’t know how much of what I saw is sensitive information.”

“They don’t have a SCU?  I guess we’re not talking about Seattle then.”

“Uh, no.  No Supernatural Crime Unit in this town.  Any mention of witchcraft and they assume black magic.  You know the type.”  I rolled my es for emphasis.

“I'm afraid I do.”  She peered at me closely.  “I can see you’re wearing thin.  You need to get back upstairs.  You're going to be extremely tired today, but don’t worry.  You’ll be back to normal in the morning, provided you stay in bed today and get some good sleep.”

When Duran asked me if I needed help getting back upstairs, I told her no and thanked her again for the healing and the tea.  I encountered a few of my neighbors in the elevator and was grateful that I didn’t need to explain my tenderized face.  Trading favors with a Glindarian witch definitely had its merits.

The accelerated healing had left me feeling very lethargic, just as Duran had warned.  So it was with more than a little foot dragging that I made my way from the elevator to my apartment.  I leaned the top of my head against the door while I fumbled my keys in the lock.  My mind helplessly wandered to memories of Nick.  I found myself thinking about some of the things he used to do when we were dating—things that irritated me at the time.  I wasn't sure why, but somehow I knew I'd end up missing those quirks almost more than anything else.

When the deadbolt finally cleared the doorjamb, I snapped out of my daydream and stumbled inside.  Now, even simple movements were arduous.  My arm felt impossibly heavy as I raised it to secure the security chain on my door.  As I struggled with locking up, all I could think about was how much I wanted to fall into bed and snuggle down under the soft comforter.  Of course, that was assuming I could make it up the stairs.  After a longing look up toward my bedroom, I reconsidered the climb and decided that the couch would be just fine.

I mumbled something to Red that might have resembled a greeting and collapsed onto the couch with a sound of pure exhaustion.  I heard some muffled sounds of movement and opened my eyes to see Red peering at me from the coffee table.

“You look great, but you must be tired.”

“Mmmm.”

I curled my legs onto the couch and made preparations to cozy-up under my chenille throw.  The telephone rang, foiling my plan to pass out as soon as my head hit the pillow.  I debated for two rings, blanket clutched in my hands, before I resigned myself to getting up.  It was probably Julie or Vince wondering when I wanted to pick up my car.  Just in case it wasn’t, I needed to put the cordless handset within easy reach anyway.  I said as much to Red as I struggled to my feet and walked heavily to grab the receiver.

Stupidly, I didn’t check caller-ID before pressing the 'talk' button.

“Hello?”  My voice sounded very tired and gravelly.

“Yes, hello.  May I please speak with Ms. Devon?” a man on the other end asked in a professional 'I don’t know you' voice.

“This is she.”

“Ms. Devon, my name is Jerry Kinkaid.  I am a reporter from the Seattle Times.  I am doing an article on the Chiliquitham Circle Murders.  I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Since when did the media know about the murders? I wondered.  “Uh, okay.  But, to be honest, there’s not much I can tell you.  How did you get my name and number, by the way?”

“A confidential source at the department told me that you were called in for questioning…”  The sound of rustling paper came through the receiver.  “Last Monday.  Is this true, and can you tell me what you discussed?”

“We discussed a crime that had taken place recently.  I’m sorry, but I haven’t been given permission to talk about the specifics of the meeting.  You should realy be speaking with the Chiliquitham Police, not me.”

“Did they tell you not to say anything?”

“Uh, no.  No they didn’t.”  I didn’t want to make the reporter think there was a conspiracy to shut out the media.

“Well, then you should be able to tell me whatever you wish.”

“Mister, uh, Kinkaid was it?  If I go blabbing everything I learned at our meeting, then they and other police agencies won’t be so eager to work with me in the future.  I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”

“Work with you?  Work with you how exactly?”

I so wanted this conversation to be over.  My body felt like it was saddled with twenty-five fully lined leather coats.  Too tired to stand any longer, I took the telephone back toward the couch.

“I’m a clairvoyant.  I own Supernatural Talent and Company.  I guess your confidential source forgot to mention that.”  It came out sounding a tad snotty, but I was achingly tired, what do you expect?

I attempted to sit down without making any distressing noises to Kincaid.  It wasn’t easy, but I felt ten times better not having to rely on my muscles to hold myself upright.

“No, they didn’t.  My source said you were a person of interest.  So you’re saying that the police did not contact you because of a more personal connection to this case?”

I hesitated to answer for a beat.  Technically Vince hadn’t mentioned the personal connection until last night, so their original purpose for contacting me was not personal.  That was skirting the truth a little too close for comfort.  I didn’t want to be labeled a liar later.  “Mr. Kincaid, I’m sorry, I’m not going to answer any more questions, not until I clear it with the Chiliquitham Police.  Until then, you'll need to consult with them instead.  Goodbye.”

I hung up without listening for any response.

“Oh, man.”  I lolled my head against the back of the couch.  “This morning I asked myself how my life could get any worse.  God, I wish I hadn’t.”

“I heard you mention something about a confidential source.  Was it a reporter?”

“Yeah.  He’s calling them the Circle Murders.  Catchy, huh?”

Red paced back and forth on the coffee table.  “Yes, very.  It is sure to cause a media sensation.  Lire, you must do everything in your power to help the police.  I don’t need to tell you that this murderer has the potential to turn public sentiment against us.  Normals only barely tolerate the magic community as it is.  Remember what happened after Flight 208?  This could be worse.”

“I know, I know.”  I sighed loudly.  “But it’s not like I’m a detective or anything.  I can only work with what they give me.  Hopefully they still want my help or will at least continue pretending to want it.  Ugh!  This is so frustrating!”

I sat up straight and regarded Red.  “And guess who’s being called a person of interest?  The jerks up in Chiliquitham can’t even tell the truth about using me as a consultant.  And at the same time they're saying ‘we don’t need any magical mumbo jumbo to solve crimes’!”  I pitched my voice high and whiney at that last bit for emphasis.  Sometimes it felt really good to act like a third grader.

“So either they don’t want to admit to hiring a clairvoyant, or you were perhaps correct in your assessment that the police contacted you because of your connection to Nick.”

“Yeah, or possibly both.  Hopefully both!  If it’s not both, just whado you think will happen when I come up with more clues that can be verified by the police?”  I didn’t wait for him to answer.  “I’ll tell you what—they’ll think they have further confirmation that I’m the murderer—that’s what!  After all, magic is 'mumbo jumbo', remember?”

Red was silent for a tick and then acknowledged that was a definite risk.  “Talk to Vince.  I am certain that he believes in your ability.  See what he says and then decide what you want to do.  At the very least, someone needs to get the word out that you are a consultant and not a suspect.  If the police won’t do it, maybe you should give that reporter the story he wants.”

I thought about it for a moment.  “I don’t know, Red.  Whenever I read or see an interview on TV, with a suspect who proclaims his or her innocence to the media, they always seem all the more guilty.”

“The lady doth protest too much?”

“Exactly.”

The telephone rang, startling us both.  Apparently my fatigued condition hadn’t completely addled my brain because this time I remembered to check caller-ID before answering the call.  It was one of the guards downstairs, so I answered it.

“Ms. Devon, a Detective Vanelli is here to see you.  May I send him up?”  I recognized the voice as belonging to Darren, the tall and densely muscled, black security guard, who was well known for his practical jokes and gregarious nature.  At the moment, there was no humor in his voice.  Acting professional for the detective, I guessed.

“Right.”  I sighed into the telephone.  “Thanks, Darren.  Send him up.”

I hung up the telephone, and Red looked at me expectantly.  “It’s the detective.  Boy, the day just gets better and better.”

“You needed to talk to him anyway.”

“Yeah, but I was hoping to be a bit more alert when I did it.”  I snuggled my head into the soft couch cushion.  “I feel like a train wreck.  Make sure I don’t say anything completely stupid, okay?”

“I will do my best.”

I tried to ignore the fact that Red answered as though it would be the most difficult task I had ever asked him to perform.

When the doorbell buzzed a few minutes later, I hated to haul myself up from the comfy spot on the couch.  I grumbled all the way to the front door—it was a long, slow trip in my weakened state, so I got in quite a bit of bitching.

The doorbell rang again when I was a little more than halfway there.  I gave the door a nasty look and yelled, “I’m coming!”

Struggling to lift my arms, I unchained and unlocked the door, wishing as I did so that I had enough energy to throw it open in a huff.  Instead, I slowly dragged it past me while leaning heavily against the doorjamb.

Vince's body gradually came into view as the door crept open.  He was standing casually with his hands in his jean jacket pockets and a curious expression on his face.  I guess he didn’t encounter many doors that opened at the speed of snail.  I’m sure he was thinking that 'weird' was the norm whenever I was around.

“What do you want?” I groused in my sweetest, dulcet just-woke-up-after-taking-a-beating voice.

“I was in the neighborhood, so I decided to check in and see how you were doing.”  His eyes widened, “Your face…how did…”

Not being in a particularly polite mood and still angry about his duplicity, I cut him off.  “How nice.  Do persons of interest always get such special treatment from the Chiliquitham Police Departt, or am I just especially lucky?”

Between the stress of my recent telephone call and Vince’s surprise appearance, I was really feeling beat down.  I sagged even more against the doorframe.  If I weren’t careful, I'd be heading for another nosedive at Vince’s feet.  Yeah, that was just what I needed.  The thought of needing Vince's help again was enough to trigger a rush of adrenaline.  It helped me stand a bit taller, but wasn’t going to last long.

Vince looked confused.  “Person of interest?  What are you talking about?”

“Please.  Cut the crap.  I just got off the phone with a reporter from the Seattle Times.  He wanted information from the so called person of interest in the Circle Murder case.”

“Shit,” he said with a sigh.  “Lire—“

“Oh, save it.  You better come in.  I can’t stand up much longer, and I absolutely refuse to let you carry me again.”

I turned away and began my slow trek back toward the family room couch, stopping here and there to lean on objects for support.  I heard the door close and lock behind me as I shuffled from a living room chair to a console table several feet away.

Vince moved quickly to my side and put his arm around my waist for support.  I briefly considered shoving him away, but I knew it would be a childish gesture.  Besides, I needed the help.  I reluctantly leaned into him as we made our way toward the couch.  The sooner I got there the better.

“What happened to you?  Your face looks great, but you can hardly lift your own feet.”

“Ugh,” I grunted between steps.  “It’s a…little…involved.  I’ll, uh, tell…you…in a…second.”

When I was seated on the couch with my blanket tucked around me, I told Vince why I was so fatigued.

“Wow.  So, uh, I guess you’re out of commission until, when?  Tomorrow maybe?”  He sounded hopeful.  Clearly, he was unperturbed by my surliness.

“Why do you care?  Need to drag me downtown for questioning?  Yeah, tomorrow should be fine.”

Vince just sat back and looked at me like I was an unruly child.

I snuggled into my cushion, closed my eyes, and somehow restrained myself from sticking my tongue out at him.

“Lire, I’m sorry about that reporter.  The media was bound to find out about the murders eventually.”

I opened my eyes to narrow slits.  “Yeah, about the murders, fine.  But my name has been linked to the murders as a possible suspect, no thanks to you and the rest of the department.  Don't think for a moment that I haven't figured out just why you guys contacted me in the first place.  A big thank you for that one!  And when my name runs in the papers as a, quote, person of interest, unquote, I’m as good as roasted.  If I had a ground floor apartment, I’d be investing in an alarm system and fire extinguishers right about now.”

After the walk to and from the door, combined with my energetic rant, I was completely worn out.  But I still had enough energy to slump back and glower.

“Detective, if I may interrupt.”  Red made a polite gesture with his paw from his vantage on the coffee table.  “Unless someone in authority down at your department vouches for Lire’s status as a consultant, I agree with her assessment that things could go quite badly.  Please, remember what happened to the relatives of the sorcerer responsible for the Flight 208 tragedy.”

Vince nodded.  “I remember.  They went into witness protection.”

Yes, but not until after they were burned out of their home and nearly beaten to death.  All of which, I might add, happened prior to their son’s indictment.  I believe he was called a 'person of interest' for a while too.”

I struggled to a more upright sitting position.  “Tell me, Vince.  Just what am I to you guys?  A consultant?  A suspect?  Because if I'm only a suspect, then anything I come up with from my readings is just going to make everyone think I'm guilty.”

He shook his head.  “You haven't been named a suspect.  Look.  I can see why you’re upset, but Jensen and I are on your side.  That counts for a lot.  Jensen carries a lot of weight at the department and we both know that what you do is for real.  Chief Watson knows it too, but he’s having to do the political dance.”

I rolled my eyes.  “Gee, that makes me feel so much better.”  I pinched the bridge of my nose and shook my head disgustedly before looking at him directly.  “Fine.  Then what are you going to do about the newspapers?”

“Tell them to contact Jensen.  He’ll set them straight.”

I shook my head.  “Not good enough.  Before they run their story, someone needs to call the Seattle Times and tell them that I'm a consultant.”

Vince nodded.  “Not a problem.  I’ll talk to Jensen.”

“Thank you.  If I remember correctly, the reporter's name is Jerry something.  Kinkaid, I think.”  Even though I was relieved by Vince's assurance that he didn't think I was a suspect, I was still angry and worried.  I folded my arms over my abdomen.  “But you’re still not off the hook for misleading me earlier—and for not telling me about Nick.  You know, I’d tell you and Jensen to go pound sand if it weren’t for him and Jason.  Oh, hell…that and the fact that the murderer seems to be targeting paranormals.”  I wagged my finger at him.  “But if it weren’t for those things, I’d tell you guys to go jump in a lake.”

Vince gave me a tight-lipped smile and bobbed his head slightly with acknowledgement.  “I guess I can’t blame you for that.”  He hesitated slightly and then asked, “So, what about it?  Will you be up for some work tomorrow?”

“Probably.  If you help me upstairs, I can sleep until tomorrow morning and be fresh for more abuse by eight.”  I gave him a stern look.  “What did you have in mind?”

“A big job, actually.  We still don’t know the identity of the first victim we found in late January.  All we have are the remains.”

I stared at him in disbelief.  I had given them an inch, and now they wanted a light year.  I never should have touched Jason's remains.  All the stories I grew up with hearing, about touching the dead, were dire.  I had gotten lucky with Jason.  There was no guarantee that the other remains had a soul to soften the blow.  Touching them would probably put me in the hospital, or worse.

“You guys just don't get it.”  I threw up my hands and slapped them down on the couch.  “That's not a big job.  It's freaking monumental.  I never should have touched Jason's remains in the first place!  Clearly you don't realize how risky it is for a clairvoyant to do that type of reading.  You know, there's a reason why every police department doesn't have a clairvoyant solving every murder case whenever there's a body to be had.”

When Vince tried to interject, I stopped him with a hand gesture.  “Hold on.  I'm not finished.”  I folded my arms tightly.  “Since I swore to myself that I'd do everything possible to make this guy pay for what he's done, I'm going to help you…but I want something in return.  I w you to let ST&C's necromancer take a look at Nick’s remains.  If his soul is trapped in the bones like Jason’s, I want it put to rest.”

Vince considered me for a moment and then nodded gravely.  “I’ll contact the Coventry County Sheriff.  This is a joint investigation now, so I should be able to get access to the remains.  We'll have to drive up there though.”

I knew that was as good as I was going to get, so I didn’t press him on whether we would be allowed to perform the ceremony to release Nick’s soul.  We’d cross that bridge later.

Vince helped me upstairs without speaking.  I was relieved.  I didn't have any more energy for conversation.  Sleep was at the top of my list of priorities.  At the first landing, I had to stop or risk falling.  Much to my dismay, he started to pick me up.

“Don't you dare!”

Vince ignored my objection and swept me up anyway.  I grumbled vociferously, but resigned myself to the indignity, since I didn't want us to go tumbling down the stairs.  Mortified as I was, I reluctantly wrapped my arms around his taut neck.  Thankfully, Vince hardly seemed taxed by my burden, no grunts or strained breathing, and I wondered whether he was deliberately trying to play it cool, for my benefit.  After all, I might be small compared to him, but I'm hardly a waif.

Vince sat me gently down on the edge of the bed, and I gave him an irritated look.  It was difficult to ignore the forced intimacy of him carrying me to the bed.  He must have felt it too because he released me quickly and walked over to the doorway.

“Well, thanks for coming by to check on me.  I probably would have been stuck sleeping on the couch if you hadn’t.”  I wasn't happy with him, but tried not to sound too bitchy.

“No problem.  I’ll talk to you tomorrow.  I’m usually in the office by seven.  Call me, when you wake up.  We can set up a time for you to come in then.”

I nodded weakly.  “Will do.  Hey, lock the front door knob behind you on your way out.  Red can climb up the coat rack to do the deadbolt and the chain.”

After Vince said goodbye, I slowly unfastened the waistband of my pants while listening intently for sounds of his departure.  When I heard the front door click shut, I felt safe to strip down to my tee shirt and panties.  I turned off the ringer on the telephone and crawled under the sheets.  They felt pleasantly cool against my bare skin, and the hairs of my goose-bumpy legs prickled against the tight weave of the fabric.  It was pleasantly quiet.  I distinctly heard Red turn the deadbolt and fasten the chain.

Satisfied that I was secure and alone, I snuggled onto my right side and was asleep in moments.

CHAPTER TEN

Normally, I wake up in the morning with some sense of my sleep the night before.  I’ll remember dreaming or waking up briefly to change position.  Something.  But the previous day and night's sleep was different.  My unconsciousness was an impenetrable blackness for over eighteen hours.  I woke up just before seven am, with not a single memory of the afternoon or night’s passing.  I don’t think I’d ever felt so totally rested in my life.

Since Jack insisted that I take some time off after my Mom’s passing, my calendar was completely clear.  I called Vince around seven-fifteen while my coffee was brewing.  He seemed surprised when I told him I could meet him at the station by ten.

“How were you planning on getting here?” he asked.

“That’s right.  I’ll have to pick up my car from Julie’s.  If she can’t come get me, I’ll just take a taxi to her shop.  I can still make ten.”

“You haven’t looked outside yet, have you?”

“Uh, no, I haven’t.”  Realization dawned on me.  “Crud.  It snowed, didn't it?”

“Yup.”

I got up to open the shutters.  They turned to reveal a wintery skyline.  Even the streets, which were usually bustling with cars at this time, were covered in white, with only a few tire tracks to attest to the fact that this was supposed to be a workday.

I laughed.  “Well, I guess I won’t be meeting you this morning after all.”

When Seattle got more than just a dusting, everything ground to a halt.  Snow wasn't rare, but it wasn't a common occurrence either.  Driving in the snow scared me.  Not only was I terrified of losing traction, but most Seattleites had absolutely no idea how to drive in the snow.  Myself included.  I fully intended to stay out of the line of fire.  There was no way was I going to brave the pass to Chiliquitham.

“Don’t be too hasty—not all of us drive snow challenged vehicles.  I’ll come get you.  I can probably be there by nine-thirty or so.”

“I don’t know, Vince.  That’s a pretty long way in the snow, over the pass.  Don't you want to wait until it clears up a bit?  It might not be so bad later this afternoon.”

“Nah.  It’s not a problem.  I’ll call you when I’m out front.”

“Well, okay.  If you’re sure.”  I was dubious.

He reassured me again, and we said goodbye.

I turned to face Red at the kitchen table.  “Up for another car trip with the detective?”

“He is coming to get you, I take it.”

“Yeah.  Mr. Four Wheel Drive.  He’ll be here around nine-thirty.”

“I suggest you pack a change of clothes, in case the roads become impassable while we are over there.”

“Oh, God.  Please don’t say that.  That’s all I need—getting stuck over in Chiliquitham with the detective.”  I rolled my eyes.

Given the way things were going lately, I decided to pack an overnight bag and maybe throw in two changes of clothes instead of just one.  With my luck, I’d get snowed in by the worst storm in Washington state history.

By the time Vince arrived, just shy of two hours later, I had prepared and eaten breakfast, put in thirty minutes on the treadmill, showered, packed my small overnight bag, and clipped several recipes from the latest Vegetarian Times Magazine.  It felt good to do something mundane and normal for a change.

I met the detective at his car in the guest parking area and threw my bag into the backseat before getting in the front.

He nodded toward the backseat.  “What’s with the extra luggage?”

I spoke while putting on my seatbelt.  “Well, the way my luck has been running lately, I thought it might be smart to plan for the worst.”

“And does the worst include winding up unconscious in the hospital, or just getting snowed-in?”  He was joking, so I didn't mention that the hospital scenario was the more likely of the two.  Anyway, I was trying to stay positive and content to live in denial for the time being.

I snorted, “Well, given those choices, I'll take the last one.”

Vince chuckled.  “Me too.”

Since Vince already knew Red, I opened up my purse and asked Red where he wanted to ride.  Red greeted Vince and then told me he wanted to read.  I lowered him to the back seat, where I figured he’d be most comfortable.

“How was the road over here?” I asked.

“It was fine.  The freeway isn’t bad. The plows are out.  It’s just the side roads that are covered.”

“If I’d known you were going to be here this morning, I would have offered the couch to you again yesterday.  This drive must be getting old for you.”  After a thought, I added, “Of course, the couch probably isn’t the greatest.”

Vince laughed.  “It wasn’t that bad.  I’m usually in the city at least once or twice a week anyway.  It’s no big deal.”  He checked over his shoulder for traffic as we changed lanes.  Well, as we changed into what was probably a lane—the snow obscured most of the street markings.  “Anyway, I enjoy the drive.  It gives me time to think about things.”

We were silent for several minutes, and I stared outside at the winter wonderland going by at a (thankfully) relatively slow pace.  The rumbling sound of the studded snow tires on the road vibrated up my legs, which was reassuring, but did not totally relieve my white-knuckle grasp on the door armrest.  Snow driving always made me nervous.  All I seemed to think about was the car slipping off the road at every curve.

Vince glanced at me.  “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Uh-oh.  When someone asks permission to ask something, it usually means it’s going to be offensive or personal.  Which is this?”

He chuckled, and I hate to admit that I enjoyed the deep, throaty sound.  “It’s neither, really.”  He paused to reconsider.  “Okay, I suppose it could be construed as being personal.”

“All right, but I don’t guarantee that I’ll answer.”

The detective chuckled again, this time a bit more nervously.  “Okay.  I’ve heard that it’s possible for a clairvoyant to have a fully consummated relationship with a vampire.  Is that true?”

“Whoa.  Where’d you hear that?”  Jeez, what was with this guy?  The conversations always seemed to turn to sex and how freakish it is for someone in my situation.  Most people don’t think about that particular disadvantage and if they do, tactfully avoid the subject.  Vince was almost pathologically forthright.

He glanced at me quickly and then turned his attention back to the road.  “Jensen mentioned it.  He’s been talking to me about his niece, lately.  I guess his sister heard it from someone down at that help group you guys talked about.  Jensen’s pretty freaked out about it.  So’s his sister.”

“Well, no wonder.”  I shook my head and blew air over my teeth, feeling a little uncomfortable.  “Yeah.  It’s a fact that many of us don't like talking about.  I’ve never tested the theory personally, but I hear that they’re unreadable.  It has something to do with the vampire curse and, well, they're dead.  Sorta.”  I shivered.  “I guess it shouldn't be surprising that there are some clairvoyants who enjoy living and working with vampires.”

I had a high school friend, a clairvoyant, who worked for a clutch of vampires.  She migrated with them too.  They spent half the year in Iceland and the other half in Patagonia to take advantage of the eighteen-hour nights.  I don't know how she endured the constant winter and so little daylight.  Anti-depressants must practically be a requirement for that type of lifestyle.  Diedra and I stayed in touch, through e-mail and Christmas cards, and she seemed to be happy.  She'd been trying to get me to visit, but I w’t overly enthusiastic about the vampire thing.  Although, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious.

“It's true then.  Is the same kind of thing true for werewolves?  They’re cursed too, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, but they’re not undead.  I know from experience that shifters are readable in their human form.”  I tilted my head, considering.  “When they're in animal form, I can only guess that they read like an animal.  But I don't know.  I've never gone out of my way to test it out.”

He glanced in my direction, his surprise clearly visible.  “Wait a minute.  You can read animals?”

“Well, yeah, sort of.  That's why I'm a vegetarian and never wear leather.”

“Ah.”  Vince shook his head slightly.  “So what happens when you touch an animal?  What kind of things do you read from them?”

“It depends on the animal and their current mood.  Animals don’t typically have much of a memory, per se, so their life streams aren’t particularly deep.  Mostly I just get feelings of contentment or discomfort, that kind of thing.”

I squirmed a little in my seat.  The conversation always seemed to turn toward my gift and its idiosyncrasies.  I was dangerously close to feeling like a sideshow freak.

The detective was thoughtful for a moment.  “So where did you know a werewolf?”

“Don’t miss a thing, do you?”

He laughed.  “Not something as weir—uh, unusual as that.”

I sighed.  “Yeah, I guess my world is pretty weird compared to yours.”

“And mine is pretty boring compared to yours.”

I snorted.  “Believe me, there are times when I wish I had a life of vanilla ice cream, instead of…of…I don’t know, freaky surprise sundae.”

“At least you get chocolate sauce on yours.”

I know my expression was dubious.  “You know, you’ve really changed your tune since I first met you.”

“Yeah?  How so?”

“I’ve got three words for you—magic mumbo jumbo.  And now…now you’re comparing my magic to chocolate sauce.  Don’t you think that’s quite a change?”

He laughed nervously and then rubbed his chin.  “When you put it that way, I suppose you’re right.”

“Why the change?”  I added, for politeness’ sake, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

His expression was thoughtful.  “I guess partly because of meeting you, seeing you in action.  You know?  And Jensen—he’s been talking to me about his niece.  I dunno.  I guess it’s given me a lot to think about, that’s all.”  He looked at me quickly, and I heard him sigh.  “I know it won’t surprise to you to learn that my parents are what you would probably call magi-phobic and about as conservatively Christian as you can get.  When I was growing up, magic was either a 'bunch of hooey' or the 'work of the devil', that sort of thing.”

“My Mom would have had a lot in common with them,” I mumbled and then felt immediately guilty.  “Well, that’s not really fair.  My mother was mostly just terrified of me.  She never thought that I was in league with the devil.”

“In my experience, hate walks hand in hand with fear.”

Considering Vince's initial reaction to me, only two weeks ago, I was surprised by his assessment.  I covered my astonishment and nodded soberly.  “Yeah, unfortunately, that's been my experience too.”

I refrained from mentioning that his immunity might explain his change of heart.  Vince had nothing to fear from my powers, so there was no reason to keep me at a distance, either physically or personally.  I realized that his initial treatment of me had the effect of doing both.  Even so, I wasn't ready to let him off the hook just yet.  I decided to reserve my judgment.  I'd wait to see how he behaved around other magic users.

We rode for several minutes without talking, just the sound of the studded tires crunching down the freeway and the cold wind sluicing past the side windows.  The sky grew darker the further east we drove.  I hoped desperately that the ominous clouds didn’t have 'snowbound' written all over them and chided myself for not checking the weather forecast before I agreed to the meeting.  It was common for the State Patrol to close down parts of the interstate when the roads got bad.  I remembered a severe storm that had shut down the entire length of I-90, between Seattle and Ellensburg, for two days.

Vince broke the silence.  “So, you were saying that you knew some werewolves?”

I nodded my head before I answered.  “I knew several lycanthropes when I went to Coventry Academy.  They’re one of a few schools in the country that has a special facility for shifters.”

“Really?”  He paused in thought.  “I never took werewolves seriously until they were covered in one of my academy classes.  It shocked me.  I can’t imagine actually being around one.  Weren’t you scared of them?”

“No.  I guess that’s because I entered Coventry at five.  When you’re young and already feeling like a freak, nothing much fazes you.  Besides, the staff at Coventry isn’t stupid.  Several days before the full moon, most of the shifters go to a separate, high security facility way out in the boondocks, and the school goes into a kind of lockdown.  They take it very seriously.”

“What were they like—the werewolves that you were friends with?  Have you ever seen one change?  Do they look exactly like a wolf, or is it obvious that they’re part human?”

I looked out the passenger window as we passed a slow moving eighteen-wheeler.  Now that we were at a higher elevation, I noticed that the snow was coming down more steadily and piled thickly along the medians.  For the moment, the center was clear of snow, but I figured it was only a matter of time for that to change.  At the last turnout, several hearty souls were putting on chains.  Clearly, they were expecting the worst.

“No, I never saw any of them transform.  It’s very personal and, until they gain control over the change, very dangerous to witness.  Well, at least for the large predators.  I like my innards where they are, thank you very much.  That’s why Coventry takes them to a separate facility.”

I looked at him closely.  “And you keep saying werewolves.  You do know that there are other shifters out there, don’t you?  Therianthropy is the accurate name of the curse, but most people tend to use the term lycanthropy or were to describe any human to animal transformation.  Technically, lycanthropy is the term that pertains only to the wolf transformation.”  I shrugged.  “Anyway, when I was at Coventry, there were several werewolves, but there were also kids cursed by tiger and bear transformations.  One of my good friends was a wereserpent.”

“What?  Snakes?  You’re kidding.”  Vince glanced at me to check my expression.  “Yeah, I’ve heard about werebears, but I didn’t know there were snakes.”  He shook his head and then rubbed his chin.  “What’s with the predator theme?  Does the curse only involve predators?”

“Nope.  The curse can be linked with any animal, but predators are most common.  I mean, think about it.  Since therianthropy is spread only by directly compromising the blood stream, the carnivores are always going to dominate.  You're a lot more likely to be mauled by a wolf than a duck.”

He chuckled, and I briefly admired his profile before continuing with a smile of my own.  “As far as my friends, they were normal people for most of the month, just like you.  You can’t tell that someone is affected by a transformation curse by just looking at them.  Most of the time, they don’t act any differently.”

Vince nodded.  “You said that they learn to control the change?  What can they learn to control?  Can they just choose not to?”

“No, it’s definitely not a choice.  It’s a curse, remember?  The bad with the good—that’s the nature of all curses.  The moon dictates the transformation.  But after an intensive training program, shifters can learn to retain something of their human consciousness while in their animal form.”

“What?  You mean they keep their human intelligence?  They didn't teach us that.  I was told that they lose their humanity and the animal takes over.”

“Well, I guess I’m just a wealth of supernatural information.”

Vince snorted.

“Seriously though, if you guys had a SCU like the big cities or at least an in-house supernatural consultant, you wouldn’t be so in the dark about stuff like that.”

He shrugged.  “There’s been talk about hiring someone, but we’re a small town.  Budget issues, you know, and we don’t see a whole lot of supernatural cases.  Anyway, that’s why you’re here.”

“Yeah, but I can only do so much.  The spells at the most recent crime scene, for example, a witch or warlock may have been able to discern what they were if they had been called to the scene right away.  We still don’t know why this warlock is performing ritual sacrifice.  He’s harnessing power, we think, but for what reason?  I’m telling you how to get more factual information, but your department’s…” I wanted to say bigotry, “conservatism is going to get in the way.  It’s incredibly frustrating.”

“I hear you.  I’ll speak with Jensen, okay?  And God forbid, if there is another murder, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure we call in the appropriate expert.  That’s the one good thing that will come out of any media attention.  It will put pressure on the brass to get results.  If that means calling in a witch, then so be it.”

Vince sounded determined, and I didn't have much choice but to take him at his word.  I sighed inwardly and settled back in the seat.  It wasn’t long before I was staring out the window and worrying about the weather again.

Twenty minutes later we pulled up to the Chiliquitham Police Department, a wood-clad single level expanse that looked more like a strip mall than an official government building.  The tires scrunched over at least three inches of fresh snow that covered the small parking lot.  Vince was right, the main roads were mostly clear and only the last few side streets had been completely covered, broken only by the occasional random tire tracks.  It was still snowing, the sky dropping a smattering of small, wet flakes, but it was hard to say whether the storm was clearing or getting ready to dump a mountain-full.

On this outing, being at least somewhat prepared, I hopped out of the Jeep wearing the well-insulated and utterly hideous imitation fur snow boots that I had owned since I was a teenager.  I looked like a Sherpa reject, but my traction was secure and I walked toward the front door without falling on my ass.  Emerging from the snow with my dignity (and ass) intact outweighed my need to be a fashionista.  Of course, there was no reason to go overboard.  I carried my chocolate brown loafers under my arm and had every intention of changing into them after I reached the safety of the police station.  Safety over fashion goes only so far.

We had just about reached the wood steps at the front door when a man I hadn’t noticed stepped in front of me and shoved a microphone into my face.  I guess I was too busy making sure I didn’t break my neck to notice my surroundings.  “Ms. Devon, is it true that you knew the most recent Circle Murder victim?”

Vince must have been more observant because he immediately moved to my side before I had even registered the fact that I had been asked a question.

“No comment,” Vince said as he forced himself between my body and the microphone.  I had time to briefly register the presence of a TV camera, and then Vince deftly guided me up the stairs, one hand gripped firmly under my right elbow.  We were through the door before the reporter regained his composure.

I waited until we were through the reception area and completely out of view before removing my boots.  I didn’t want to be a subject for that cameraman, even through the front windows.  When we reached his desk, Vince told me to throw the ‘Chewbacca’ snow boots under his extra chair.

I'd been wondering when he’d get around to giving me a hard time about my choice of footwear.  I stuck my chin out.  “Very funny.  But I’ll be damned if I crack my head open and give you another reason to carry me.  Besides, if I hit my head again, I’ll start running out of brain cells.”

His deep laugh was infectious, and the officers at nearby desks looked up and smiled.  A couple expressions faltered into something less friendly when the people got a glimpse of my gloves, but I was used to it and ignored them.  Laughing made me feel better after the business with the reporter.  I’d only been interviewed once before, but that was a planned event.  This was different.  I couldn’t imagine being followed by photographers who jumped out at me like paparazzi stalking a celebrity.

Our laughter had only just trailed off when Jensen emerged from a back hallway, returning our smiles and probably wondering what was so funny.

“Good to see you again, Ms. Devon.”  Jensen was wearing a similar, if not the same, brown suit that I remembered from our last meeting, although the tie was neatly knotted and his hair looked a bit more under control.  His eyes were focused on mine expectantly, and I was close enough to see that they were a beautiful combination of greens and browns.  He held out his hand and then quickly withdrew it.  “I forgot.  No hands.  I'm learning about these things from my sister.”

I nodded with an understanding smile.  “It's good to see you too.  Yes, the paranormal world has its idiosyncrasies, doesn't it?  But you'll be a pro in no time.”

Jensen nodded amiably.  “What do you think?  Are you up for this?”

“I’m going to give it a whirl.  Hopefully I can come up with something you don’t already know.”  I tried to sound optimistic, instead of nervous.

“That would be good news for a change.  These damned reporters are driving me crazy, and it’s only just starting.  We're holding a press conference in about an hour.  It would be nice to say we have some leads when they descend.”

Aha.  That explained why Vince went out of his way to pick me up.

Vince and I followed Jensen through the doorway at the rear cornf the squad room.  We continued down the hallway, past a jog to the left, until we reached a flimsy looking door with a ‘DO NOT DISTURB’ sign taped at eye level.  Unlike the interrogation rooms, this door wasn’t made of metal.  It looked like something you’d see in a cheap tract house, not a door you’d find in a police department building.

Vince opened the door to reveal a wood paneled room with one small window, which was obscured behind old, white metal blinds.  A white refrigerator was placed awkwardly to the left of the window.  A circular laminate table, four chairs and a small, brown couch took up the rest of the available floor space.  Hanging above the relatively new but nondescript couch, on the left-hand wall, was a large bulletin board covered with photos, flyers and notices.  On the right-hand wall was a small expanse of kitchen cabinets with a counter, microwave and small sink.  The décor was something out of the 80s, but the break room looked comfortable and clean.

In the center of the table lay a blue plastic container with a yellow 'EVIDENCE' sticker on the side.  I pulled out a chair to sit and watched as Jensen lifted the lid of the bin and set it down on the table.  When I craned my neck, I could see the smooth shape of at least one bone.  The silence felt almost reverent, and I was reluctant to break it.

Vince sat ninety degrees from me around the table, to my right, and I held his eyes briefly.  He must have sensed my apprehension because he gave me a nod and a smile of encouragement.

“Ms. Devon, is there anything I can get you before you begin?” Jensen asked.

“No, thank you.  I’m fine.  And it's Lire.  Remember?”

“Lire.  Of course,” Jensen said with a sheepish smile and then sat down across from me.

I removed my gloves and placed them on the table between Vince and myself.  My insides were roiling with anxious emotions, but I kept my voice calm.  “Vince, will you please place the bone on the table in front of me?”

“Sure.”  After first slipping his right hand into a surgical glove, Vince reached inside the box, delicately removed the bone from its resting place and set it down where I asked.  It was approximately twelve inches in length, and I wondered briefly whether it was a leg bone or an arm bone.  I didn’t know a thing about anatomy.  The boys must have known whether the remains belonged to a male or female, but I couldn’t remember either detective mentioning it explicitly or using a gender pronoun.  The lack of information was deliberate, I was sure.

After readying myself, I took a deep breath and mumbled, “Okay…here goes,” and then I reached out and took hold of the bone.

Although my shield was as ready and strong as I could make it, I was completely unprepared for the power that exploded through my body.  The magical forces contained in the bone blasted my mind, shattered my carefully prepared defenses and left me completely powerless.  For an excruciating moment, I felt my body arch uncontrollably as all my muscles contracted and burned with a torrential power that was not my own.  Liquid fire poured through my veins, pain ripped through my core and poured out of my mouth, transformed into ragged, agonizing screams.

I felt like I was burning from the inside out.  At the same time, my mind was raped by the memories and images of a woman who was a slave to fire.  The memories devoured me.  Mercifully, I lost consciousness, but not before falling to the floor and vomiting fire.

I don’t know how long the blackness persisted, but when my eyes finally opened, I immediately realized that I was dreaming.  Once again, I found myself lying in the center of themiliar stone dais with an unusual sky overhead.  Unlike my previous blackout, however, a blazing wall of fire surrounded the stone platform.  Alarmed, I hastily gathered my limbs into a low crouch and surveyed the landscape.  The fire, bright orange and red, with menacing blue highlights, had taken the place of the delicately turned balustrade from my earlier dream.  A hot wind, generated by the inferno, whipped my hair in all directions, plastering much of it to my sweat-covered face.

I stood up and futilely wiped the strands of hair away from my eyes as I searched anxiously for a way out of the encircled dais.  There was no break in the wall of fire and the ring of flame was gradually tightening.  I tried to wake up, but I wasn’t sure how to go about it.  I supposed that if I waited around long enough, I’d eventually wake up, like last time.  But I knew, without a doubt, that if the flames reached me, I wouldn’t wake up at all and it wouldn’t be pleasant.

My breath came in ragged gulps, and I struggled not to panic.  It was unbelievably hot.  Sweat encased my body, dripped from the tip of my nose and snaked down my back and sides.  I continued to turn around slowly, as if I’d suddenly find an exit through the impenetrable fire, and tried to remember what I had learned the last time I was unconscious, anything that might help me.  But nothing came to mind, except the tender memory of meeting Jason for the first time.

As if summoned by my very thoughts, I felt Jason’s cool presence behind me, just before he whispered into my ear, “Lire, you have to control the fire.  Don’t let it consume you.”

Jason’s breath felt cold on the back of my neck and his hands left a path of icy goose bumps as he ran them down the length of my arms.  An involuntary shiver racked my body.  I watched his cold breath drift past my face and then felt his hands grip my shoulders firmly.  It felt exactly like was holding two ice packs against them.  I shivered violently.

“You can do it.  I know you can.”

“I don’t know how!” I insisted.  “Help me!”

Jason’s arms wrapped around my waist, and I felt intense cold press into my back.  I was all flame on one side and frost on the other.  “I can do nothing about the flames.  You must control them.  You have the power.”

“What power?  This is a dream!  I know it’s a dream, like last time.  I’ve tried to wake up, but I can’t.  Make it go away.  Please!  Bring us back to the porch swing.  Anything but this!”

My muscles gave out.  I was so tired, so hot, despite Jason’s frosty intervention, and my body slipped through his icy grip.  There was no power available to me that could stop the mad combustion around us, and I was almost past the point of caring.  I slowly collapsed to my side, eyes distantly focused on the flames, when Jason roughly turned me flat on my back and prostrated himself on top of me.  My body shivered violently as deep cold swallowed me from head to toe.  Shocked, I looked into Jason’s concerned eyes.  They were a stunning, unfathomable blue, like the color of a backlit sapphire.

“Lire.  They are trying to cool your body from the outside, but it's here,” he tapped his icy finger against my temple, “that you must deal with the fire.  I cannot help.  The power lies within you.  She will show you if you open up to it.”

“No!”  I struggled to sit up, and Jason quickly moved to kneel at my side.  “She’s evil.  Jason, the things she did…the things she enjoyed…you don’t understand.  I can’t live that life!  I can’t let it be a part of me.  I can’t!”

He regarded me with a sad expression.  “Then noting good can come from her life, and you will die here, without accomplishing your task.  Evil will win.”  His eyes, still an unsettling shade of blue, blazed urgently with an intensity that made me take pause.

I knew he was right.  The woman, formerly known as Patty Schaeffer, whose deeds were so repugnant that I was almost willing to die before reliving them, had the skills necessary to bank the fire that was now burning not ten feet away in every direction.  Already Jason’s icy touch was but a memory.  I knew that my core was increasing to dangerous temperatures.

I cried out in despair and deliberately opened the floodgates that I had subconsciously erected.  Patty’s memories flooded to the fore, nothing like the initial dose that was propelled by the magic left over from the warlock’s spell, but the sheer volume was staggering.  In my mind, I recoiled from each memory, hundreds of horrible deeds that ranged from leaving flaming dog shit on someone’s doorstep to setting fire to animals and watching them slowly die in agony.  And with each new atrocity, I mourned the ruination of her soul and the ever-increasing loss of my own innocence.

Unlike my experience with Jason’s remains, Patty’s soul was not trapped within her bones.  Because there was no interference to slow the flow of psychic energy, all of Patty’s life experiences became my own almost instantaneously.  I grappled with the huge influx of experiences while suppressing my intense feelings of revulsion.  It was utterly disorienting having to deal with such conflicting emotions.  On the one hand, I reveled in the sheer pleasure of playing with fire, watching it burn, and feeding it whatever came to hand, but on the other hand, I was repulsed by the deeds that derived such pleasure.  It was Patty on the one hand, Lire on the other.

“Lire!”

I came to my senses to find Jason holding me upright and the fire so close that it was no longer possible to sit down without getting singed.  The hot, dry wind swirled around us, tossing my hair and lashing the flames even closer to where we stood.

Absolute calm filled my mind.  This was my element.  I was no longer afraid—it was wonderful—but I also knew that my body could not withstand much more of its heat.  I took my weight back onto my own feet, wrapped my arms around Jason and pressed my sweat-soaked torso even closer to his.  He turned quickly to peer into my eyes, suddenly aware that I was coherent.  His expression was a mix of surprise and terror, and a small part of me reveled in his discomfort.  I put my cheek next to his and fought with the desire to push him into the fire and watch his fear unfold completely.

I cried out in dismay and felt a new source of power build and unleash from my mind.  Fed by my anger and despair, the energy poured out of me in a torrent.  I stepped away from Jason as I took control of the newly released potential.  I held my hands out in front of my body and marveled at its beauty, the power dancing between my fingertips.  I caressed it, folded it this way and that, and then lifted my hands skyward before slamming it down with an immense thunderclap that crushed the fire and deprived it of its fuel to burn.

The darkness that followed was instantaneous and complete.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

My eyes opened reluctantly and a little painfully.  When I was finally able to hold them open for longer than a few seconds, I realized that I was in a hospital bed.  From the partial view I saw through a nearby window, I guessed that I was at Swedish Medical Center, in Seattle.  I had woken up at Swedish twice before, but never in a room quite like this one.  On my previous surprise vits, when I was careless enough to misjudge my skill and power levels, I was assigned a private room in the portion of the hospital reserved for psi-sensitive patients.  It had been years since my last visit.  This time, I was in a room along with at least five other beds.  Maybe they increased the size of their psi-ward.  I closed my eyes on that thought.  I was completely wiped out, and my head felt like it had been split open and stapled back together.

When I next opened my eyes, I noticed an IV bag dripping clear fluid down a tube that fed into my right arm.  On the same side, my hand was bandaged with what looked like infinite layers of white gauze.  Since I wasn’t up for lifting my head yet, I raised my hand slightly to get a better view.  There was not much to see that shed any light on what my injury might entail.  I tentatively wiggled my fingers and felt extreme, burning pain with each movement, but couldn’t feel much else with the restrictive bandages.  The puffy gauze engulfed my entire hand, without any delineation that might have represented fingers.  I fought down the unfounded fear that some, or all, of my fingers were charred husks, but failed miserably.  I remembered dreaming about fire and pictured my hand black and skeletal.

Before I panicked completely, a heavy-set, bronze skinned nurse noticed my movements and immediately came to my bedside.  Her name, she informed me, was Lupe, and she was one of the step-down nurses at the hospital.  After she raised the head of my bed, checked my vitals and asked me several memory recall questions, she bustled away to call for the on-staff doctor.  I realized, only after she had walked away, that I still knew nothing about what happened to me.

My eyes wanted to sag shut again, but I resisted and tried to get my mind working.  Earnestly, I made the effort to piece together what happened.  Apparently, my brain wasn’t running on all cylinders yet because it was quite an effort to get my mind focused on remembering much of anything.  Since my body felt like it had gone nine rounds in a UFC cage match and my head was pounding faster than the Blue Man Group, I decided that something other than my injured hand was responsible for my hospital stay.  What was the last thing I remembered?

It was frustratingly slow.  I remembered my Mom’s death…Julie's party…learning about Nick.  Dear Nick.  Fuzzily, I remembered Vince driving me somewhere in the snow.  A vivid image of Vince reaching into a plastic bin flickered into my mind.

Oh, God!  The bone!

And that’s all it took.  Like a trip wire, just that one brief memory of Patty Schaeffer’s bone, lying on the table, waiting to be touched, triggered the rush of memories that were laying in wait for my mind to dredge up.  Stuck in a hospital bed, with no distractions, I had little to do but torture myself with their presence.  The more I tried to put them out of my mind, the more they claimed my attention.  Finally one thought surfaced that shoved all the others aside.  Where was Red?

I fought down a new wave of panic and considered the most likely scenarios.  Jensen and Vince must have been really freaked out about what happened—I could remember falling to the floor, screaming in pain—but I desperately hoped that Vince had the presence of mind to take my purse and put it away for safe keeping.  He would remember that Red was in there, right?  I know Vince watched me gather Red and my shoes before we got out of the Jeep.  Good God!  What if somebody else got a hold of it?  If someone else picked up my purse and attempted to reach inside…  I couldn’t bear thinking about it.  If it happened at the police station and someone got zapped, what would they do?  Shoot to kill?  Call the bomb squad?

No, no.  I told myslf to calm down.  If anything like that happened, they’d call Vince, and he’d tell them about Red.  There was no need to freak.  Besides, we’re talking about a police station.  Any cop would know better than to rummage around in someone’s purse without permission.  Especially a purse with bright yellow warning labels on the inside.  Wouldn’t they?

I couldn’t stand not knowing about Red, but before I had a chance to call over a nurse, a tall, impressively thin man appeared at my bedside.  He was wearing a white medical jacket over dark trousers and had a stethoscope draped around his neck.  His hair was straight and black, streaked slightly with grey, and he had small, narrowly set blue eyes that contrasted nicely with his black eyelashes.  His voice was surprisingly deep.  When he spoke, I noticed a prominent gap between his front teeth.  He introduced himself as Doctor Williams and opened up my medical chart, which was hanging from a pocket at the foot of my bed.

Doctor Williams asked the usual questions in a serious, slightly detached manner, beginning with the all important, “How are you feeling?” and ending with queries obviously intended to test my memory.

After we established my name, birth date, address and the current month and year, he asked me, “Now, do you know why you’re here?”

“Um, no.  The nurse didn’t say much, but I only just woke up about ten minutes ago, I think.”  With the fuzziness factor going on in my head, I wasn’t completely sure of anything.

He flipped back a page or two in my chart.  “You came into emergency two days ago, unconscious and exhibiting a dangerously high fever—well over 106—and convulsions.”  His eyes focused intently on mine.  “I don’t know if you know anything about body temperature, Ms. Devon, but a temperature of 107.6 for more than an hour can cause brain damage and eventually death.  The ER immediately put you into a full body ice bath to try to bring down your fever.  The results weren’t encouraging, and your temp hovered just under 106 for a short time before spiking again.  Your blood tests showed no sign of bacterial or viral infection, so there was nothing more to do, other than cool your body from the outside.  Then, for whatever reason, your fever vanished.  You were in intensive care until it was clear your body was recovering from the effects of the fever.”

I held up my bandaged hand.  “What happened to my hand?”

He glanced at the chart.  “Your hand was burned.  Not too badly, second degree burns on the palm and the inside of several of your fingers.”

I asked, with some hesitation, “So, other than feeling really crappy, am I okay?”

His straight face was disrupted by a smile that disappeared almost as quickly as a box of chocolates in my kitchen.  “You had signs of renal failure, but your most recent blood test results were fine.  Your kidney function appears to be back to normal.  Brain damage is also a concern with a prolonged high fever, but, from initial observation, you appear to be fine.  We’ll keep an eye on you though and see how things go.”  He checked his watch.  “You’ll be transferring down to the psi-ward in an hour or two.  They’ll remove your catheter and get you moving around soon after, I’d imagine.”

That was great news, but I couldn’t relax completely until I had some news about Red.  “Uh, do you know whether I came in with anything—my purse for example?  For that matter, do you know how I got here?”

“You arrived by airlift.”  He flipped pages in my chart.  “Just shoes and socks in your inventory, no mention of a purse.  Your clothes, of course, were cut off of you in emergency.”  More papeustling.  “A Detective Vincent Vanelli checked you into emergency.  A note here says that he wants to be notified as soon as you’re awake.  We can place the call for you if you’d like.”

“Yes, please.  And will you ask after my friend, Red?”  He nodded his head and closed my chart.  “Thank you, doctor.”

After he walked away, I leaned my head back to rest.  Now that I had at least made some effort to locate Red, I didn’t fight to keep my eyes open.  I fell asleep in moments.

I was faintly conscious of a rocking motion before opening my eyes.  I knew immediately that I was dreaming and Jason was with me.  The fact that I was completely aware of dreaming was a strange experience.  There are supposed to be people who can control their dreams, but until recently, I'd never personally experienced such a thing.

We were back on the porch swing and my head was resting on Jason’s lap.  The swing was rocking gently, which made me feel completely relaxed.  I smiled and looked up into Jason’s face.  He peered down at me, and although they were shadowed, the startling blue of his eyes was striking.  I admired his boy-next-door, clean-cut good looks.  He was way too young for me, but I could see how a girl could really get used to having nightly dreams about Jason.  Daily dreams too, for that matter.

He smiled that same quirky, lopsided smile I'd seen previously.  His left eyebrow arched slightly.  “A guy could really get used to this too.”

The shock on my face must have been obvious because he laughed richly.  I jumped up like a cat evading a spa treatment and looked at him accusingly.  “You know what I’m thinking!”

He stifled his laughter and looked at me with an expression of both mirth and sympathy.  “I’m part of you, remember?  Of course I know what you’re thinking.”

“You what?”  I looked at him, dumbfounded.  “Well…well…that just doesn't seem fair.”  I threw up my hands.

Jason laughed.  “Sit down.  Don't worry.  I know you don't really think of me that way.”

I looked at him doubtfully, but his warm, friendly smile put me at ease and I sat down next to him.

My gaze sharpened as I looked at him closely.  “Um.  So, am I talking to my subconscious, or what?  I have to tell you, this is really weird, even for me.”

Jason smiled reassuringly.  “You're not talking to yourself if that's what you're wondering.  And, no, you're not going crazy.”

“Well, that wasn't even on my mind, thank you very much, until you piped up with that I-know-what-you're-thinking business.”  Jason chuckled at my deliberately dry tone before I asked, “So, what's up with this?  Why is this happening?  Why are you here, in my head, in my dreams?  Not that I mind, exactly.”

Jason smiled and shook his head.  “Beats me.  You have my memories, so your guess is as good as mine.  It's possible this is what happens whenever someone like you touches another paranormal's remains.”

I considered it.  “Yeah.  I guess, but don't you think I would have heard of such a thing?  I mean, at some point in history, this must have come up.”  I shook my head.  “This type of experience is something other clairvoyants would have passed on—talked about.  You know?  But I've never had any clairvoyant mention it as a possible risk.  There's just always been the talk of being overwhelmed by so many memories, more like what I experienced with Patty's remains.  I've never heard anything about having, uh, well…what?  What are you?  I know you're not just a memory.  You're more than that.  can feel it.  It's like I have a piece of your soul or something.”  I couldn't suppress a shiver.

Jason shrugged and then looked thoughtful.  “I don't know.  Maybe it has something to do with the spell the warlock used for his ritual.”

“I wish we knew more about it.  Do you have any idea?”  I could have examined the memories myself, but I purposely avoided dwelling on his encounter with the demon and waited for him to respond.

Jason shrugged.  “No.  If you remember, I wasn't conscious for that part.”

I nodded drowsily.  I regarded Jason fondly—high cheekbones, straight nose, square jaw with the tiniest hint of stubble—and wished I had known him in life.  My eyes grew heavy.  At Jason's urging, I curled back up and put my head on his lap.  While Jason rocked the swing, I closed my eyes and mused about how strange it was to be falling asleep in a dream.

Just before I drifted off, I heard Jason whisper, “I wish I had known you too.”

Someone gently jostled my shoulder and called my name.  My eyes were slow to focus, but after only a moment, I was pleasantly surprised to see Vince standing next to my bed.  I smiled weakly and did my best to blink the sleep away.  It occurred to me that waking up to Vince's concerned expression wasn’t the worst thing in the world, although, I’d have enjoyed it much better under different circumstances.

I drew in a shaky breath and uttered a hoarse greeting as I attempted to brush away some strands of tangled hair that had fallen across my face.  My efforts were hampered, however, by my bandaged hand and the IV drip connected to the same arm.  Vince sensed my predicament because he quickly gave my left shoulder a squeeze and then sat back in a nearby chair.  With my left hand, I feebly wiped the errant strands out of my face and did my best to smooth my limp, unwashed hair behind my head.

One thing I noticed immediately was that I was no longer in the step down unit.  I was in a private room, in what I assumed was the psi-ward.  I must have really been out of it.  I didn't remember them moving me.

“Lire.  Hey.  How are you feeling?”  Vince's face was still full of concern and he leaned forward to awkwardly put his right hand on the bed.  I got the impression he wanted to touch me, but didn’t want to overstep his bounds.

I patted Vince's hand with my uninjured one to reassure him and was rewarded with a tight smile.  “Well, I’ve been better, to be honest with you.”  Suddenly I remembered Red and grasped his lower arm tightly.  “Red!  Where is he?”

I tried to raise myself up, but was too exhausted to get very far.  Vince rose from his chair to put a hand on my shoulder and ease me back into bed.  “Lire, it’s okay.  I have him here with me.  I brought your purse.  Let me close the door.”

Vince reached down next to the bed and brought up my satchel, which he placed gently on my stomach.  I lifted the top of the purse to create a larger opening and the outside of the purse bubbled with movement.  Red popped his head out, climbed to his feet, and toddled a few steps before I hugged him close.  His stuffing stayed put and his eyes didn’t pop out, but I’m sure it was a close thing considering the tight hug I gave him.  When I finally released him, he sat down on my stomach with his back against my purse.

“Thank God!  You have no idea how I have let my imagination run wild about where you were.”  The relief of finally seeing Red was incredible.  I happily snuggled back into the discomfort of the hospital bed, feeling much more at ease.

“I apologize, Lire.  I didn’t mean tose you any distress.  Visitors are allowed very little access to the ICU, and we didn’t know when you would become conscious.  I asked Vince to keep me in his safekeeping until you were released from the hospital.  It seemed the prudent choice at the time,” Red explained.

“I'd hoped that was what happened, but I wasn’t sure.”  I turned to Vince.  “Thanks.”

“No problem.  It was the least I could do.”  Although sincere, Vince’s tone was still somewhat tense.  Something was obviously wrong, but I wasn’t sure what.

I gave him a weary smile.  “I seem to spend more time at your feet than I do standing up.”  When this only yielded a small smile and his expression of worry remained, I reassured him, “Vince, I’m okay.  Really.”

Vince gave me a stiff nod and remained silent.  It was obvious that he had something on his mind, but I was too worn out to tease it out of him gently.  I looked at Red, “Something’s wrong.  What is it?”

Red took a moment before responding.  He tilted his head and regarded me.  “Lire, do you have any idea what happened to you?”

“Yeah, I got my ass kicked by the leftover magic in Patty Schaeffer’s remains and about a zillion really unpleasant memories.  But I already spoke with the doctor when I was in the step down unit.  He said I came through okay.”

I stopped and looked back and forth between Vince and Red.  “Do you guys know something that I don’t?”

Red cocked his head.  “Actually, there is quite a bit you don’t know, but not in the way you think.  I’m sure the doctor is correct that you are going to recover.  No.  Vince and I are somewhat tense because we nearly watched you die.  Ah…I can see by your reaction that you know nothing of what happened before you arrived at the hospital.  You are correct that the residual magic overpowered you.  It was so powerful, in fact, that it stopped your heart.  Vince gave you CPR for several minutes until the paramedics came.  They were able to restart your heart with a defibrillator; however, almost immediately your temperature began to rise.  By the time you reached the emergency room, you were having frequent convulsions.  We then waited as the emergency staff tried to bring down your fever.  The attending physician came out and told us that even the full body ice bath wasn't working and he didn’t hold out much hope for your survival.  They wanted to call your next of kin and to know whether you wanted Last Rites.”

It was a truly bizarre feeling, knowing that these things happened but having no memory of them.  “God!  I…I don’t really know what to say.  I had no idea.  No wonder you’re both freaked out.”  I looked over at Vince and reached toward him with my free hand.  “Vince.  Thank you.  You saved my life.”

Vince leaned forward to take my hand and held it firmly on the side of the bed.  With a sharp look, he shook his head.  “I might have helped, but I didn’t save your life.  The paramedics did that, and then the ER team.”  He sighed heavily.  “No, I set you up for this.  I asked you to give a reading when I knew it was a difficult job for you.  You have nothing to thank me for.”

I gave his hand a hard squeeze and a slight shake.  “Vince.  It’s hardly your fault.  If you hadn’t asked me to do the reading, Jensen surely would have.  No, if anyone's to blame, it’s the bastard who’s running around blasting psychics to kingdom come.  Anyway, I knew the risks.  I’ll do anything to find Jason and Nick’s killer.  Anything.”

Vince nodded and then released my hand.  I’m not sure he was convinced, but he stayed silent.

I thought about my sister.  “So, did someone call Giselle?”

Red answered, “No.  Vince and I agreed that it was best to wait.  After all, your mother just died and she’s eight months pregnant.  Even if Giselle had been called, there wasn’t anything she could do, other than worry.  It seemed to be the right thing to do.”

I nodded.  “Okay.  Thanks.  You’re right.  The last thing I want is for her to be worried about me right now.”

“Red asked me to call Julie, and we’ve been keeping her updated.  She visited you earlier, but you were asleep, I think.  She wants you to call her as soon as you feel up to it.”

“And what about Jack, did you call him too?”

“We called him after we knew you were okay.”  Vince hesitated slightly.  “He says you should take as much time off as you need.”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s all he said.  Is it?”  Jack was probably wound tighter than a balloon caught in a ceiling fan.  I wasn’t looking forward to the time it was going to take to get him calmed down, or the conversation about me continuing to help the police.  Sometimes I really wished that Jack wasn’t so high strung.

“No, it wasn’t,” he admitted with a shrug.  “He’s concerned about you, not without reason.  Helping us seems to be bad for your health.”

I cocked my right eyebrow up.  “What can I say?  I like to live dangerously.”

Vince shook his head and smiled.  I felt the tension in the room ease for the first time since he arrived.

“So…that was quite a day down at the Chiliquitham P.D., huh?  Just a guess, but I’m sure clairvoyants don’t keel over in your break room every day, do they?”  I gasped.  “Oh crap!  That news guy in the parking lot!  And the press conference!  Please tell me that reporters weren't out front when all this went down.”

“Of course they were.  Whatever can go wrong…”  Vince smirked.  “You're living proof of Murphy's Law.”

“Only when you’re around, Vince.”  I stuck my tongue out at him.

He grinned.  “True enough.  Seriously though, we’re going to have to sneak you out of here when you're released.  The Circle Murder case is the big story of the moment.  I keep hoping that some scandal or political upheaval will come along to divert everyone's attention, but no such luck.”  He hesitated slightly.  “A couple of photographers managed to sneak by hospital security when you were in the step down unit, so they posted a security guard in the corridor.  I’m afraid they managed to snap a few shots before they were thrown out.”

All I could think about was how terrible I must look in those photos, but then I realized their true impact.  “Oh!  What about Giselle?  Maybe she's seen them.  I’ve got to call her.”

Vince nodded.  “It started out as just another local story, but Fox picked it up last night.  There’s a good chance she may have heard about it by now.”

With Vince's help finding the number in my purse and then dialing it, I was able to leave a message on Giselle’s answering machine telling her briefly what was going on and that I was fine.  I only had about fifty other things to worry about, but it made me feel better knowing she wouldn’t be worried by the news reports.  I made a mental note to call her again as soon as I got home.

Before we had a chance to talk any further, a nurse arrived with a knock on the door.  I hastily slipped Red back into my purse, with a quick apology, and pushed it off my lap toward Vince, who loweredit to the floor.

The nurse that came through the door was tall and slender, with dark blonde hair pulled into a smooth ponytail.  She wore typical psi-ward attire—light blue, long sleeve orderlies and latex gloves—with navy blue Crocs.  Although she'd probably dealt with dozens of other patients during the course of her shift, her smile appeared genuine and her greeting was cheerful.  However, when she entered the room, she seemed a little nonplussed by Vince's presence.  I glanced over at Vince, half expecting him to be doing something unusual, but he was simply pecking away on his Blackberry.

She introduced herself, checked my vitals, and then told me she would come back for a blood draw later, presumably after Vince was gone.  Although she paid attention to me, asked all the requisite questions, and engaged in typical nurse-like behavior, I got the distinct impression that she was distracted.  It took a few minutes, but I finally figured out that she was interested in Vince.  She wasn’t drooling on his shoes or anything, but every so often she glanced over at him and then ducked her head quickly.  It was so subtle that I doubt Vince even noticed.

Before the nurse left the room, I told her that I wanted to ask the doctor about my progress and get an idea of when I might be released.  She nodded and politely closed the door behind her, but not before risking another surreptitious look at Vince.

Vince helped me get comfortable with the arrangement of hard, lumpy pillows behind my back.  He returned my purse to my lap before sitting again.  I opened it so Red could come out and then turned my head on the carefully placed pillows to see Vince more easily.  A weariness descended on my body that hadn’t been there earlier.

“Get your notebook out will you?  I don’t know how much longer I’ll be coherent, and there are a few things you should know before you leave.”  My voice sounded a bit thready.  I made an effort to keep it loud enough for normal conversation.  “I’ve figured out a few things that are probably significant.”

The detective gave me a surprised look and then fished in his coat pocket for the notepad and pen I knew were there.  “Okay, shoot.”

“Like I said earlier, the victim’s name was Patty Schaeffer.  She was a pyrokinetic who just moved to the area late last year from Ohio.  She was…  Well, let’s just say that we never would have been friends.”  I shuddered.

Vince looked at me intently, “Criminal?”

I nodded stiffly.  “She has a record, although, she wasn’t caught for the worst offenses.”  I waved my left hand weakly.  “I'll tell you about that later.  The important thing is that she knew Nick.  She had participated in a study that Nick helped organize at Coventry City Hospital, at the end of November.  She even pursued Nick romantically after the study was over.”  I smiled softly.  “He let her down gently—told her that he had a girlfriend.”

“Where did she live?”

“Federal Way.  She worked at the Home Depot there.”

I closed my eyes briefly and took a breath.  I was so tired.  I felt something soft stroke my cheek.  When I opened my eyes, Red was standing on my chest looking into my eyes.

“Lire, we’re going to let you sleep now, but I was loath to leave without saying goodbye.”  He gave me one last pat on the cheek before backing away.

“Okay.”  It took me a moment to get my bearings.  I realized that I must have drifted off when I closed my eyes earlier, but I knew that I was forgetting something.  Something important.  What was it?

“Vince.  Wait.  One last thing.”  He was standing at the end of my bed and I struggled to raise my voice.  “Patty was killed on January 20th.  That means she was murdered after Jason.”

Since I wasn’t privy to the details of the case, I wasn’t sure if the police already knew that Patty was not the first victim, even though her remains had been found first.  I was guessing that no one had filed a missing person’s report on her.  Patty wasn’t a very popular person.  She didn’t really have any friends, since she moved from Cleveland not long before.  Most people had the good sense to keep their distance.  It probably didn’t help that Patty had been telling people that she despised it here and wanted to move back to Ohio as soon as she could.  Her coworkers probably thought she made good on her threat or were so relieved to be rid of her that they didn’t bother to report her absence.

Vince looked thoughtful as he jotted this newest piece of information in his notebook.  “I have more questions for you, but we’ll go over them later.  I left your overnight bag, there on the couch, so you’ll have some clothes.  Get some rest.”

He waited for Red to climb back into my purse and then placed it into a black duffle bag.  It seemed Vince didn’t want to be seen carrying a woman’s purse.  I smiled at his camouflage before drifting back to sleep.  I didn’t even hear the sound of the door when he left.

The plain, slightly distracted nurse was true to her word.  She returned to poke another hole in my arm, shortly after Vince and Red left, and I was thankful her earlier distraction was gone.  Her task was understandable, but it seemed like someone was always waking me up once an hour to check my vitals or adjust my IV or serve me a meal or something.  It was frustrating and maddening.  By the time the doctor arrived, later that evening, I told him flatly that I wanted to be released the following morning.  I was sick of the constant prodding and questioning and restless sleep.  The pillows were hard and the blankets were thin.  I couldn't get comfortable no matter how hard I tried.  My own bed was calling my name, and I wanted nothing more than to snuggle down under my own comforter and sleep uninterrupted for a very long time.

Sadly, it took another full day to extract my release from the on-staff doctor, but pacing the hallway in front of the nursing station every hour probably helped.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Julie drove my car to pick me up, and I laughed when I saw her dart dramatically into my hospital room.  She pressed her back against the wall and peered outside the door as though trying to evade some unfriendly foe.  It didn’t take me long to notice that Julie was a study in black—black shoes, black gloves, black running tights, black pullover, black wraparound sunglasses, black leather backpack, all topped off with a black baseball hat.

“Julie,” I said, laughing, “What are you doing?  You look like a ball playing Ninja!”

She mugged at me and did a crouching run from the doorway to my bedside chair that ended in laughter.  When she caught her breath, she explained, “Vince told me about the reporters, so I decided to dress for stealth.”

“Uh huh.  Yeah, well, black does equal stealthy, and if anyone tries to snap your picture, you are practically invisible under that hat.”  The hat looked like it was two sizes too big.  It was probably one of Steven’s.

“You know it girlfriend.”  She huffed onto her nails exaggeratedly and then buffed them on her chest.

“You’re quite the drama queen today, aren’t you?”  I smiled broadly a my best friend.

The security guard looked inside my room with a perplexed expression, and I waved him away with a smile.

Julie was oblivious to the guard and shrugged at me.  “It’s so surreal—you in the papers and all.  I just couldn’t help myself.”

We giggled.  Like Red, Julie had her own way of making me feel better whenever I was feeling down.  It usually involved some hair-brained stunt, but she never failed to make me laugh.

She pulled off the backpack.  “The press must have gotten the word that you’re going home today.  TV crews and a small army of reporters are down in the lobby.  I swear, every day there’s been an update on your condition.  It’s crazy.  If you don’t want to be on CNN tonight, we should find out if there’s a way to go directly to the parking garage without having to go through the lobby.”

“Thanks.  Hey, would you mind checking with the nurse’s station about an alternate route while I wait here for the release paperwork?  The release nurse is supposed to be here any minute.”

Unfortunately, there wasn’t any way to avoid the lobby.  We had to rely on four hospital security guards and three nurses to keep the press at bay when we made our way through the lobby to the parking garage elevators.  We did our best to ignore their questions and the lights of the cameras, but it wasn’t easy.  After taking the elevator to the second basement level, Julie and I breathed a sigh of relief when we found no one lurking in the shadows.  The security guards and just one of the nurses waited with me while Julie fetched the car.  I decided to let Julie drive since I was still feeling a bit peaked.

If anyone followed us to my apartment building, they would be turned away by Chet’s intimidating presence or by the guards in the building’s lobby.  My homeowner’s dues were obscenely high, but I sure appreciated the security.  With highly trained armed guards, magic wards up the wazoo, and two house djinn, unauthorized entry into the building’s residential floors was nearly impossible.  I felt a surge of relief when Julie drove up to the parking garage’s security gate.

We stopped briefly to give Chet a rundown on what was happening.  After pulling into the garage Julie turned to me with a broad smile.  “I think we just made his day.  Did you see the spark in his eyes when you told him that unwanted guests might be calling?  He looked thrilled.”  She shook her head.  “I pity anyone who tries to get past him without permission.”

I laughed.  “I know.  It almost makes me want to hang around and wait, just to see it for myself.”

Vince and Red were in my apartment when Julie and I arrived.  Before we left the hospital I called my building’s reception desk to tell them that Vince was allowed access to my apartment and that any reporters were to be turned away.  Considering that I had previously had only two or three visitors in the entire time I owned the loft, ringing my doorbell and having Vince answer the door was disconcerting.  I gave him what was probably a really awkward “Hi,” and then turned back toward Julie.  Julie had decided to wait down in the lobby for Steven, instead of donning a skin suit, so we said goodbye at my front door.  I gave her a careful hug, thanked her for picking me up and promised to call her later.

Vince had brewed a pot of coffee, the darling.  He delivered a cup (fixed just how I like it) to me at my perch on the couch.  I could have kissed him.  Call me crazy, but I just thanked him instead.  The psi-free coffee at the hospital was mediocre at best.  The smell of my own Sumatran brewing in my own kitchen and served in my own coffee mug while sitting on my own cou was enough to make me swoon.  I sipped greedily and delighted in the comfort of the soft cushions.  At that point, I think I would have forgiven Vince for anything.

When we first met, I never would have pegged Vince for thoughtful and considerate.  I wondered if he would ever stop surprising me.

Vince sat next to me with his own cup of coffee and Red found a spot on the coffee table.

I smirked.  “Well…make yourself right at home Vince.”

“Aaaah,” he crooned as he put his socked feet on the coffee table and scooted himself into a comfortable position.  “Don’t mind if I do.”

I rolled my eyes and tried not to smile while I sipped my coffee.  The blisters were still painful on my right hand, so I had to acquaint myself with holding the cup in my left.  It was a bit awkward, but I managed not to spill.

“Yeah, I brought my laundry over too.  I hope you don’t mind.”  He said this with such a poker face that, at first, I wasn’t sure if he was joking.  After a moment, his eyes darted to the side to check out my reaction, and I realized that he was teasing me.

I chuckled and shook my head.  “I must be more tired than I thought; you totally got me with that one.”

He laughed.  “How did things go with your departure from the hospital?  Am I gonna see you on the six o’clock news tonight?”

I snorted.  “Probably, but if they managed to get a clear shot of me, I’d be surprised.  I was surrounded by security guards and riding in a wheel chair.  Since I didn’t see any cameramen on stilts, I think I’m relatively safe.  It was ridiculous though.  I can’t believe how many reporters there were.  It must be a pretty dry news day if my exit from the hospital is the most exciting story around.”

Vince sipped his coffee.  “Conservatives are talking about revisiting the Magic User Registration Bill again.  It all makes for a very sensational story.  Unfortunately, we landed you right in the middle of it.  Sorry about that.”

I shrugged.  “No need to apologize.  It was my decision to help you, and I’d do it all over again.  The whole press thing was probably inevitable.  Magic is nothing if not sensational.  As long as everyone knows that I’m helping with the case and not a prime suspect, I’ll be okay.”

“I almost forgot…your neighbors stopped by to check on you.  The two guys from next door, Peter and…” he snapped his fingers while he tried to remember the other name.

“Jerome.”

“Right.  Apparently they saw you on the news and wanted to let you know that they’re back from their trip.  If you need anything, they said to call or stop by.”

“That’s nice to know.  Thanks.  Was that today?”

“Yes.  They must have heard me come in because they rang the bell not long after.  I think they were pretty surprised that I was here.  Red had to assure them that you were okay with me being here, without being all covered up.”  He nodded toward the kitchen.  “You also have a lot of messages on your answering machine.  I don’t know if you noticed.”

I shook my head.  “No, I didn’t.  I’ll check them later.  I don’t feel like dealing with them right now.”

I shifted my body on the couch so I faced him more directly.  “So, did you verify the information about Patty Schaeffer?”

“Yes.  Her coworkers at Home Depot all confirmed that the last time she came to work was in mid-January.  Her boss was able to tell me that her last day was the eighteeh.  No one was surprised when she quit work without notice.  Every employee I interviewed told me Patty complained almost continually that she wasn’t happy here, that she was going to move back home.”

I interjected, “She was hoping to.  She just didn’t have the money.  Actually, that’s what got her tangled up with the murderer.  She was hooked by a deal to set fires.  Insurance scam, you know.  The money was going to be enough to get her back home and then some.  She was supposed to meet the contact at the east parking lot of Sammamish State Park, late on the twentieth.  It never occurred to her to be wary about meeting a stranger at a potentially deserted location.  She had a built-in weapon, you know?  Not too many people around who aren’t afraid of fire.”

“How’d she hear about this job?”  Vince had put down his coffee in favor of his dog-eared notepad and ballpoint pen.  He licked his finger and flipped to a fresh page.

“Another firestarter from Nick’s study.  A guy named Keith Deckard.  Keith told me…I mean, Keith told Patty that he met the contact in an on-line chat group and eventually talked with him off-line about the scam.  The deal was for five thousand per job.  Keith wasn’t interested, but he thought Patty could use the extra money, so he passed the tip along to her.  Patty wasn’t so sure about it though.  She figured the guy might be an undercover cop or something—so she decided to just go and meet him, but not agree to anything or take any money until she had a chance to do some checking around.  I guess she was so busy worrying that the guy was an undercover cop that she was totally unprepared when he attacked her.”

“Did she get a look at him?”

“Nah.  He was wearing a scarf around his face, sunglasses, and a dark hat.  He’s good.  I’m sure he knows that a clairvoyant can get that type of information from the remains.”

“Or he’s just being cautious, in case his quarry gets away.”

“Could be.  She would have been a really bad one to let loose though.  Does 'burned to a crisp' mean anything to you?”

He laughed.  “How’d he manage to avoid getting fricasseed?”

“Same as Jason.  Chloroform maybe?  He hit me—”  I shook my head.  “I mean her—hard and then he put something over her mouth and nose.  It was a smart move.  She was so stunned that there was no way to call her power before she blacked out.  She woke up inside the circle with the demon restraining her magic.”  I inhaled deeply, but was unable to stifle a shiver.  The memories of her ordeal were horrific, but I think what disturbed me most was that a not so small part of me felt that she got what she deserved.

“Anything else?  What about the car?”

I closed my eyes and delved into Patty’s memories.  “The car was a black sedan.  She didn’t notice the license-plate because she was too busy checking out the guy leaning against the car door.”  I opened my eyes and shrugged.  “It might have been a BMW…maybe.  It had tinted windows and a glass sunroof.  Sorry.  She really wasn’t paying much attention to the car.”

I placed my nearly empty mug on a coaster and rearranged my limbs on the couch so I could face him a little more.  “One thing I’ve remembered, since I spoke with you last, is that Jason also participated in Nick’s study.”  Vince looked up from his notepad and regarded me with a sharply inquisitive gaze.  “I probably would have come up with that sooner, but with all of my various emotional stresses lately, it didn’t occur to me until yesterday.  Sorry about that.  Jason didn’t actually meet Nick directly, though.  The test was administered by Nick’s colleague.”

His next question was immediate.  “Did Jason also know Patty?”

“No.  I think they were all tested individually.”

“What exactly was Nick studying?”

“Nick was working in conjunction with a neuroscientist in observing a psychic’s brainwaves before, during and after a psychic discharge.  The subject was wired up and then asked to do various tests, sometimes using their power and sometimes not.  Jason and Patty don’t have any knowledge of what they were hoping to discover.  I hadn’t spoken with Nick about it, so I don’t know either.”

I was about to suggest that Vince speak with the neuroscientist, but stopped myself.  That much was obvious; I didn’t need to tell him how to do his job, but I anticipated his next question.  “Dr. Ford was Nick’s research associate at Coventry Hospital.  I think his first name is Edwin.”

Before Vince finished writing and moved on to another question, I reminded him, “Don’t forget, I’d like to come with you to Coventry, so I can have Jake examine Nick’s remains.  If the demon did the same thing to Nick, I want his soul released.”

“Technically, we need the approval of the next of kin.”

I shook my head.  “Nick’s family abandoned him when his powers surfaced.  They put him in a reservation and signed over guardianship to the government.  To say that he was bitter would be an understatement.”  I smacked my head with the palm of my hand.  “God!  You don’t think the police have contacted his parents, do you?  He’d have hated that, and I know Nick left a will.  During one of our many conversations about our screwed up backgrounds, he told me that even though he didn’t have much in the way of money—we were in college at the time—he had a will drawn up just so that he could cut his family out of it.  The police will search his house for it, right?  Or will they just assume it must be okay to let his parents inside with no supervision?  Man!  That would really piss Nick off.”

Vince held up his empty hand in a stopping gesture.  “Settle down.  Look…since Nick’s death is part of a murder investigation, I think it’s safe to assume that the police up there won’t be letting anyone into his place without supervision.  They will definitely look through Nick’s belongings for any legal documents or a safety deposit box key—things of that nature.  Don’t forget, one of the main motives for murder is money.  The police up there will definitely be looking for any sign of a will, don’t worry.”  Vince looked at me slightly askance.  “You know, it is possible that Nick worked things out with his parents since you guys last talked.  Don’t assume that they’re out of the picture.  After all, you yourself patched things up with your Mom and sister after—what was it—how many years?”

I sat back into the couch, abashed, and looked down at my hands.  It didn’t seem terribly likely, but Vince was right, Nick may have reconciled with his parents.  I didn’t see how it was possible, since as far as I knew, Nick didn’t even know where his parents lived or, for that matter, whether they were still alive.  I said as much to Vince, but acknowledged that anything was possible.  Two weeks ago, I never dreamed of my own reconciliation with Mom and Giselle, and look what happened.

“Well then…how do we go about getting in to examine Nick’s remains?” I asked.

“It’s not the examining that will be the problem.”

Vince sat forward to trade his pen and notepad for his coffee cup.  Leaning back with his mug, he replaced his socked feet on the table.  Suddenly, I realized thathis was…nice.  Vince on my couch, socked feet and all, just hanging out—it was so very…normal.  And I liked it.  I tried hard not to think about how it was going to feel when the case was solved and this small bit of normalcy disappeared.

Vince continued, “It’s this soul freeing spell that I’m worried about.  They’re not going to want you tampering with the evidence, not until we get someone behind bars.”  He held his hand up, silencing my protestation.  “But before we get ahead of ourselves, let’s just take things one step at a time.  I’ll try to get access to the remains for you and, hopefully, your necromancer.  But you have to promise me that there will be no soul freeing—not until we get it cleared first.  I don’t want you charged with evidence tampering, okay?  We’ve got enough to worry about.”  He sighed.  “I have to tell you though, without the next of kin demanding the release of his remains, like Jason’s parents have done, the soul releasing thing for Nick will probably have to wait until the investigation is closed.”

I put my head back on the couch cushion and sulked.  “Well, I suppose that’s better than never.”

Vince's expression softened.  “How are you feeling?  You doing okay?”

I rolled my head to the side and gave him a small smile.  “Yeah, I’m okay.  A little tired, I guess.”  My smile faltered as various memories of the past couple weeks came to mind.  Discussing Nick's remains hadn't helped.  “It's better if I don't think too much, but sometimes it’s a losing battle.”

Even though I had kept my emotions under control for the most part, I felt a single tear squeeze out from the corner of my left eye.  It rolled down my cheek and disappeared into the softness of the couch fabric.

“I’m sorry, Lire.”

Vince regarded me with a concerned expression.  It did wonderful things to his eyes I observed; and immediately wanted to smack myself.  He tricked me, remember?  He pretended to like me at the party, remember?

I sat up straight to clear my head.  “It’s not your fault, but thanks.  By the way, thank you for watching out for Red and meeting me here today.  I have to say, it’s been a new experience having you inside without any protection.”

Too late, I realized the double entendre and then laughed like an idiot as my cheeks flushed hotly.  My mind was definitely skirting the edges of the gutter lately.

Vince laughed too and cleared his throat.  “Ahem.  Yes.  Well, it was no problem.  Red and I had fun hanging out.”

Once again, I was struck by the unexpected circumstances that Vince’s unusual nature presented.  Red had never shared time with anyone else without me being, at the very least, in the general proximity.  Suddenly I was faced with the knowledge that Vince and Red had a boy’s night out together—two nights, actually—and that sudden awareness was pretty unsettling.

I must have been giving Vince a really strange look because his genial expression changed to one of direct curiosity.  “Is something wrong?”

I shook my head and tried not to look as overwhelmed as I felt.  “I’m sorry, it’s not you…well, actually, it sort of is you.”  I made an exasperated sound and blurted, “This is just so weird!  I’m sure this all seems very normal to you, Vince, but this…” I paused to search for an appropriate word and flailed my good hand in the air, “situation is so not normal for me!  Since two weeks ago, I’d never had anyone in my home without a skin suit, much less greet me at my own door, and Red has never been away from me or talked to anyone without me at leasteing nearby.  This is all just so bizarre!”

“Wow, and to think, I could have given you the full experience by bringing my dirty clothes over to be washed.”  Vince gave me a sly grin and then paused before regarding me thoughtfully.  “Seriously though, I can go now.  I should have thought about how all this would make you feel.  Anyway, you probably want to get some rest.”  He took his legs down from the coffee table and started to lean forward.

“No.  No.”  I quickly moved in to grab his arm before he got up.  I let my hand linger for a moment.  “Please don’t.  This might be strange for me, but it’s been pretty nice too.  You don’t have to go…well, not unless you want to.”  I withdrew my hand before my words seemed too much like a come-on and leaned back tentatively into the cushions.

“Are you sure?”

I nodded, but much to my dismay, I felt tears spring to my eyes.  I covered my mouth with my left hand while I tried to collect myself.  Vince noticed my distress and asked, “Lire, are you sure you’re okay?”

Again, I nodded wordlessly, without moving the hand from my mouth, for fear of bursting into tears.  After a moment of silently berating myself, I removed my hand.  “God!  I’m a disaster!  You must think I’m such a baby."

“Are you kidding?  Lire, considering what you've been through in the last couple of weeks, I can't believe how well you're holding up.  Hell, if I’d been knocked around as much as you have, I’d be a quivering pile of Jell-O by now.”

I smiled sadly and gave him a stiff nod as I ripped a tissue from the box sitting next to the couch and dabbed my eyes.

“I don’t know how, but you always manage to see me at my absolute worst.”

He reclined back into the couch, apparently satisfied that I wasn’t going to get hysterical.  “Hardly.  I’ve seen way worse.”

I glanced his way, feeling terribly self-conscious, eyebrows raised reflexively.  “Yeah?”

“Sure.  I’m a cop, remember?”  He shook his head sadly.  “Trust me.  You don’t even come close to being the worst I’ve ever seen.”

I pushed some loose strands of hair behind my ear and thought about my newly acquired memories.  “I bet what I’ve got up here comes close.”  I poked a finger at the side of my head.  “I know it’s the worst I’ve ever seen, and this time I’ve got the whole show, not just bits and pieces.”  I took a shuddering deep breath, which I let out slowly.

Vince looked at me questioningly, but Red understood.  “With no soul trapped within the remains, you acquired all of Patty’s memories.  However, that's not what has affected you so profoundly, is it?”

I looked at Red, with his pudgy legs hanging over the edge of the coffee table, and shook my head negatively.

“Her soul was missing for a reason,” Red realized.

I closed my eyes briefly.  “Yeah.  She was evil.”

Vince rested his right ankle over left knee and regarded me.  “You mentioned something about this at the hospital, so I looked up her record.  Actually, I would have done it anyway, but your comments made me particularly curious.  Her record wasn’t exactly clean.  Misdemeanors mostly.  One case of shoplifting.  Nothing too extreme, but, then, you said that she didn’t get caught for the worst of it.”

I nodded, but didn’t say anything.  I was afraid to open my mouth—afraid that if I did, I’d start crying in earnest and not be able to stop.  At the same time, I knew that I needed to talk tsomeone about the memories.  I just wasn’t sure whether I was ready for that yet.

“Can you talk about it?” Vince asked.

I was silent for a moment as I struggled with the iron-clad door I had slammed against Patty’s memories.  It couldn’t possibly be maintained indefinitely.  Not if I wanted to function otherwise.  With the amount of energy I was expending to keep her horrors locked away, there was no way I could maintain my shield effectively.  I simply didn’t have enough energy to do both.

“I know that I will have to face Patty soon, but I'm not ready.  I don’t want to think about her.  Vince, she was horrible!  Truly horrible.  And I’ve seen my share of horrible shit.  Believe me.  It’s taking all my strength just to keep her locked away.  Unfortunately, I can’t do that indefinitely, not if I ever want to leave my apartment.”  My voice cracked from emotion.  “I wish I had never touched her.  I wish I had the strength to keep her out of my head.  I wish…”  I wiped my nose briskly and inhaled unsteadily.  “Ugh!  At this point, I guess I wish a lot of things.  But nothing comes from just wishing as my Dad used to say.”

Vince sat forward and braced his arms on his thighs, so he could look into my face.  I tried to resist the urge to hide from his gaze, but I looked down at the floor anyway.  Talk about vain!  Even through all my psychological and emotional turmoil, I was worried about Vince seeing me with bloodshot eyes, no makeup, and limp hair.

Much to my surprise, as I was staring at the carpet and lamenting my ugly state, Vince put his arm around my shoulder and gently pulled me toward him.  Startled, I briefly looked into his eyes before allowing my head to rest stiffly against his shoulder.  Red jumped down from the coffee table and walked in the direction of the kitchen.  I knew he left to give us some privacy.

Vince rubbed my arm with the hand that was extended around my shoulders.  “Hey.  I know there’s not much I can do, but I’ve seen a lot of bad shit too and I can be a good listener.”

I nodded my head and took a relaxing, deep breath.  I inhaled his aftershave.  It was spicy and not too sweet.  Vince sat back, taking me with him, and I tried to find a comfortable position, in spite of my convoluted feelings about him.  Automatically, I placed my right hand on his chest to balance myself.  Since it was bandaged, it wasn’t like I could feel anything with it.  Well, that’s what I told myself.

I have to admit, I enjoyed the intimacy.  After ten years of mostly abstinence and certainly no skin contact, my reaction to Vince’s spontaneous closeness is difficult to put into words.

Vince kept his arm around me, and I relaxed as much as possible, which wasn't easy.  I was sitting on a ticking memory time bomb and lying against a guy who I was trying not to find irresistibly sexy.  My excuse that Vince wasn’t my type was beginning to wear pretty thin, and I couldn’t help but wonder about his feelings toward me.  Was I just a fellow colleague in need?  Did he feel sorry for me?  Or was he doing this because he was attracted to me?  I still wasn’t sure.  Even if he was attracted to me, I wondered whether it was a mistake to get involved with him.  His comments about possessive girlfriends and messy breakups sprang to mind.  Was he just unlucky or had he behaved in ways that prompted possessive behavior from his girlfriends?  Maybe he wasn't one for commitment.

Just a casual relationship wasn't going to work for me.  But, that issue aside…did I really want to be seriously involved with Vince?  I did not want to go through another heartbreaking experience, like I did with Nick.  But I guess that’s the risk you take wth any romantic relationship.  Except, for someone like me, the pain of loss is magnified by the rarity of finding a skin-mate.  I mean, think about it.  In over thirty years, I've only met one other person who I could touch without incident.  Maybe it was better to stay out of the pool.  At least, that way it wasn’t possible to drown.

There was also the whole business of his deception and not coming clean about Nick's death.  Granted, it was possible that the decision to mislead me was mainly driven by his superiors.  I sighed.  My feelings about Vince were terribly confusing and pondering them while laying my head against his muscular body, probably wasn't going to yield the most objective evaluation.

It wasn't long before I realized that I was focusing on Vince to avoid facing Patty’s horrendous life, but I was reluctant to cause myself any more pain.  Besides, snuggling up with Vince felt good.  It was almost impossible not to think romantic, even lustful, thoughts.  And Vince stroking my hair and right arm wasn’t helping either.  Whew!  My temperature was rising, and I was almost one hundred percent sure that the loft’s heating system hadn’t kicked in.

“Patty was an enforcer for a gang leader in Cleveland.  She left the area when the police investigating a brutal murder began sniffing around her boss.  He gave her money and a ticket to Seattle.  She believed that he was going to call her back after things cooled down.”

There was a world of things left unsaid, but it was a start.

Vince’s hand, which had stopped moving while I spoke, gave my arm a gentle squeeze.  “Was she guilty of the murder there?”

“Yes.”

“She used her powers?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Was it the only murder?”

“No.”

“How many others?”

I thought for a moment.  The fact that I had to stop and think about it was definitely a bad sign.  “I’m not sure.  It’s not that I can’t access the memories, it’s that she didn’t know for sure.  At least a dozen, maybe more.”

“And the police never caught on after all those deaths?”

“Well, the thing about fire is that it can be explained naturally.”

“Ah.”

I sat up.  “Yeah.  She was brutal.  She enjoyed it.  She especially liked to see the victims suffer.  She toyed with them.  She…it was…it was…”

My stomach roiled.  I jumped up quickly and ran for the nearest safe location to vomit.  I made it just inside the guest bathroom's threshold before losing it.  On the second heave, I made it into the toilet.  Somehow I managed not to slip and fall on the now slick tile floor.  Ugh.  On my knees, I retched a few more times and then quickly flushed the toilet.  I heard Vince's footsteps stop just outside the open door.

“I’m sorry, Lire.  Is there anything I can do?”

“Yes.”  I wanted him elsewhere.  Without turning to look at him, I asked, “Will you please get me the mop and bucket?  And the roll of paper towels in the kitchen?  Red can show you where I keep the mop.  Just leave them at the door.  I'll be done in a minute.”

“All right, I’ll be right back.”

As his footsteps echoed away toward the kitchen, I quickly got up and closed the door.  Reluctantly, I glanced in the mirror and couldn't suppress a whimper.  I looked a wreck-and-a-half.  My nose was stuffy and my eyes were red-rimmed from heaving.  Since it wasn't likely to get much worse, I dropped all my barriers against Patty’s memories and allowed them to flow freely.  Now that the initial shock was over, I was able to dwell on the worst offenses without becoming sick.  It wasn’t easy, but I forced myself to relive every ghastly detail, especially the most atrocious acts, so that they no longer held any terror for me.  A few tears certainly weren’t going to make Vince think any worse of me, but I choked them back anyway.

After a moment of standing with my back against the door, I moved to the sink to splash some cold water on my face and rinse out my mouth.  It was awkward only being able to use my left hand, but not impossible.

Over the sound of the running water, I heard the clanking of the bucket's metal handle and then Vince's muffled voice telling me that everything was ready.  When I opened the bathroom door, Vince was standing a few feet away with a concerned look on his face.  The bucket and mop were near the door, and he was holding the paper towel roll.  I could see wisps of steam rising from the surface of the soapy water in the bucket.  Vince really was a doll.

“Lire, go sit down.  Let me help.”

“God, no!”  I didn't want him to think I wasn't grateful, so I added, “You've already helped by bringing me this stuff.”  I held out my hand for the roll of paper towels and he reluctantly handed it to me.

Vince didn't make any move to leave and I really didn't want him watching me get down on my knees to clean the disgusting mess.  Fortunately, I thought of something else that I needed.  “I guess I’ll need a garbage bag.  Would you mind?”  I risked a quick glimpse into his eyes.  He smiled sympathetically and nodded.

By the time Vince came back with the garbage bag, I was done wiping up and ready to start mopping.  I thanked him for his help and then pleaded with him to go sit down.  The bathroom wasn't large, so it didn't take long for me to finish.  When Vince saw me carrying the bucket toward the laundry room, he jumped up from the couch and took it from my grasp.

The door to the laundry room was open, and Vince headed for the deep-well sink at the far wall.  I followed him into the room and leaned my back against the industrial rack shelving opposite the sink.  As he emptied the bucket, I wondered again about his motivation.  This was hardly a pleasant undertaking.

“Why are you doing this?”  It came out a little louder and more accusatory than I intended.

He turned around with a puzzled look.  “Doing what?”

“You know…investing all this time in taking care of me.”  I waved my hand in the air.  “If you’re doing it because you feel responsible in some way, you can just stop right now.  Seriously.  It’s liable to give me the wrong idea.  And because of your unique nature, I’d just rather avoid any misunderstandings along those lines, thank you very much.”

Vince replaced the bucket in its place under the sink.  “Unique nature?”

I was feeling really self-conscious and my cheeks were burning, which annoyed me, so I got a little testy.  “Dammit.  Don’t play dumb!  The fact that I can touch you.  If you’re just doing this because you feel somehow responsible for my recent injury…I think…well…if that’s the case, you really need to go.”

Vince looked at me thoughtfully for several seconds and nodded.  “Fair enough.”

He walked past me, back toward the kitchen, and I figured he was on his way out.  At the threshold, he turned slightly, revealing a nonchalant smile.  “So, uh, are you feeling hungry for lunch?  Julie dropped off a lasagna earlier, or I can gete takeout if you want.”

I stood stunned in the laundry room and slowly counted to ten before following him out into the kitchen.  When I finally emerged, he was waiting for me, leaning back against the kitchen island with a sly smile and one cocked eyebrow.

Feeling a bit flustered, I rolled my eyes and told him, “You exhaust my brain.  I need to sit.”

That cracked him up.  I heard him chuckling behind me all the way back to the family room couch.  Meanwhile, my thoughts were bouncing around like a laser beam in a mirror factory.

As I curled my legs under me, Vince asked whether I wanted any more coffee.  His expression was still mildly mischievous, so I scolded him, “Oh, just sit down would you?”

Laughing, he sat down with his body turned toward me and propped his bent elbow on the back cushion.  Of course, all I could seem to think about was how sexy he looked and how rumpled and disgusting I looked, not to mention having vomit breath.

I jumped up.  “Uh, well, I don't have an appetite right now.  But, you’re welcome to have some lasagna if you’re hungry.  Um, if you don’t mind, I really could use a shower.  Here’s the remote.  Feel free to watch TV.  The DVDs are in these drawers if you’d rather watch a movie.”  I gestured toward the entertainment center and then fled upstairs before I could embarrass myself any further.

My legs itched to take the stairs two at a time, but I forced myself to take each tread normally.  I knew that Vince would be able to see me until I reached the first landing.  As soon as the stairs took me out of his sight, I jogged quietly the rest of the way up as my mind wheeled.

By the time I strode into my bedroom, my heart was pounding and it wasn’t because of the stairs.  Did what I think happen just happen?  Did Vince just acknowledge his attraction to me?  I replayed our conversation in the laundry room as I paced back and forth.  I told him that he should go if he didn’t want me to get the wrong idea.  Did he understand what I meant?  How could he not?  I replayed his response in my mind over and over.  He said, “Fair enough,” and there was no mistaking the look on his face when I followed him out of the laundry room.  I know he got my meaning.  Why else would he have such a sly, I-just-put-itch-powder-in-your-bed look on his face?  If he weren’t interested in me, he would have left as soon as possible.  Wouldn’t he?  I buried my face in my hands.

I fretted for a few more seconds and then gathered some clean clothes from my closet before heading for the shower.  Normally, I would have left my bathroom door wide open, but with Vince in the house, I closed it down to a crack.  I debated for a moment about closing it all the way, but if Red needed me for any reason, I needed to leave it unlatched.  Besides, did I really think in my wildest dreams that Vince would come striding into the bathroom while I was showering?  Please!

As I began stripping off my clothes, it dawned on me that I wasn’t going to be able to take a shower with the bandages on my hand.  I’d have to settle for a not so quick bath.  Washing my hair was going to get interesting.  Damn.

Unfortunately, in spite of my careful efforts, the bottom third of my bandage was soaked by the time I let the water out of the tub.  But, on the plus side, my hair was squeaky clean, my barfing episode was a distant memory and I was actually feeling pretty good.  When I looked in the mirror, I was pleased to discover that my eyes were no longer bloodshot and my face had recovered its normal pallor.  I might have a chance at looking presentable after all, which was a relief since I had finally admitted to myself that I was attraced to Vince.  I hoped that it wasn’t a huge mistake to lower my guard.  After all, this was the guy I wanted to slap silly only two weeks ago.

“Excuse me, Lire?”  Red’s voice startled me.

“Yeah?”

“Vince needs to talk to you.  Are you presentable?”

“Uh…”  I wrapped my towel around myself and quickly checked for coverage.  “Well, sort of.”

I opened the door to ask Red what Vince wanted and found myself face to face with Vince instead.  I think I squealed with shock and clutched at the towel to keep it from slipping.  My cheeks flamed red with embarrassment as I partially hid myself behind the door.

Vince’s eyes opened wide with momentary surprise and then focused on me in a way that I didn’t expect, especially since he could see that I was standing in nothing but a small towel.  His expression was grimly serious and all business.  I knew immediately that something was wrong.

“What’s wrong?  What’s happened?”

“I just got a call from Jensen.  There’s been another one.”  He paused and looked at me with concern.  “And there's more.  This time the murderer left you a calling card.”

I felt my eyebrows knit together.  “Come again?”

“They found a note with your name on it.  Jensen says it was weighted down by a rock.  We need to get down there.  Now.  Are you up to it?”

My stomach was doing flip-flops.  “No, but I’ll go anyway.”

“Hurry and get dressed.  I’ll let Jensen know we’re coming.”  Vince walked to my bedroom door and then turned on his way out.  “Nice towel by the way.”  He didn’t wait for a response.

I looked down and was relieved to find that my towel had stayed in place and nothing private was on display.  I gave Red a slightly dirty look.  “I didn’t expect him to come in here with you.  You’re lucky I didn’t come out totally naked.  Jeez.”

“I’m sorry Lire.  I thought he was going to wait on the landing.”

“That’s okay, Red.  Nothing seems to go according to plan whenever Vince is around.”

I tilted my head and sighed.  So much for flirting on the couch with Vince, I mused.  Of course, maybe that was a good thing.

I blow-dried, dressed and cosmeticized in record time, and I think things turned out all right.  Well, at least nobody would guess that I almost died three days ago.  That was something.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

When I got downstairs, Vince was pacing by the front door.  He looked up as I came down to the first landing, and I was pretty sure his expression softened slightly when he saw me.  I told myself not to get carried away, but I hoped his expression meant that he liked what he was seeing.

“Did you turn off the coffee maker?” I asked.

“No I didn’t.  Sorry.”

“No problem.  I’ll be right back.”  All the way to the kitchen, I marveled at the fact that I just asked, casually no less, whether someone other than Red had left the coffee pot turned on.  Such a little thing, but it was amazing to me.

As I approached Vince, this time from the direction of the kitchen, I noticed how scrumptious he was looking, dressed in his faded blue jeans, button down oxford shirt and brown leather jacket draped over his arm.  He was leaning against the front door, looking slightly impatient.  I suddenly hade absurd urge to walk straight up to him and plant a great big kiss on his delicious looking lips, just to see his reaction.  I thought of a few other things too…

Hello!  Was it possible for me to get my head out of the gutter for more than a few seconds?  Here we were, ready to leave for a murder scene, and I’m thinking about pushing Vince up against the wall.  Boy, give me the chance at some skin contact with a good-looking guy, and I suddenly develop a one-track mind.  If I didn’t get myself under control, I was liable to do something really embarrassing.

I busied myself with settling Red inside my purse while I tried to subdue the lascivious thoughts.

When I looked up, Vince was standing near me with an inquisitive look on his face and a crooked smile.  “What were you thinking about just now?”

“What?  When?”  Uh, oops.  Apparently, my expression had betrayed my thoughts, just moments earlier.  I inwardly cringed at the thought of what that must have looked like, but kept my face neutral.

He made a motion toward the kitchen.  “You know…when you were walking toward me, just now.”

Vince’s smile was downright roguish, and I wanted to kick myself.  Didn’t I just scold myself about doing something embarrassing if I wasn’t careful?  Gah!  Too late!

I felt the blood rushing to my cheeks, but successfully tempered my expression.  My left eyebrow shot up.  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

I gave him a provocative look and walked out the door before he could say anything.  Of course, I had to wait outside to lock it behind him.  Vince walked out of the door slowly, that same crooked grin dominating his face.  He continued over to the elevator while I closed and locked my front door.  He didn’t say a word the entire trip down in the elevator.  He just leaned against the wall with his arms folded and a cat-ate-the-canary expression.  I returned his gaze with one of utter boredom, but what I really wanted to do was give his ear a hard flick.

When the elevator doors opened, Vince leaned over to my ear and whispered, “You can tell me later,” and then took the lead without waiting for a reply.

I hate to admit it, but my stomach dropped down to my knees, in a very pleasurable way, mind you, and it took me a moment to regain my senses.  Fortunately, Vince had his back to me, so I was spared any further embarrassment.  God!  Could I be anymore pathetic?  I don’t know…maybe this was what flirting was all about, but somehow this recent exchange just made me feel desperate and insecure.

Vince must have been expecting some kind of reply because his gate faltered slightly and he peered at me from under his dark brows.  He looked at me thoughtfully, but turned and continued walking without comment.  I followed close behind.  By the time we neared his Jeep, we were walking side by side.

He unlocked the passenger door.  “Cat got your tongue?”

I looked up at him and fibbed, “Sorry…just wondering about this message or whatever it is from the murderer.  It’s really creeping me out.”

“Yeah.”

I was stern with myself.  Detective Vanelli.  With a capital ‘D’.  Detective.  Vanelli.  I chanted his title over and over, in my head.  I really needed to get my thoughts under control.  Business associates, remember?  I gave myself another mental scolding.

We settled into the car, which once again led to the struggle with my coat, and I was just pulling it up to my chin like a blanket when Vince began driving.

He shook his head.  “You know, it’d be a lot easier if you remembered to take the coat off before you got into the car.”

I shrugged.

The roads were slick with recent rain (the snow had melted while I was in the hospital), and Vince ran the wipers on their lowest setting to keep the misty drizzle from obscuring our view.

“Where’s the scene?”  I hoped it didn’t involve any backwoods hiking in the rain.

“It’s out in Monroe.”

“Out in the country, or what?”

“No, behind a Safeway, actually.”  Vince glanced at me briefly.  “The murderer obviously wanted this one found quickly.”

My stomach lurched and the ever-present butterflies did their little dance, but this time it wasn’t Vince’s sex appeal.  The murderer wanted the remains found right away, probably because of the note he left for me.  What was that all about?  Why would the murderer leave me a note?  The thought was frightening.  Now that I was actively thinking about it, I couldn’t seem to stop.

“Did Jensen say what was in the note?”

When Vince didn’t answer, I turned toward him to see whether he heard me.  His expression was grim, which made my stomach do another loop-de-loop.

“He wasn’t allowed to see it yet.  The Feds have stepped in and a joint task force is being formed.  The case has been classified a hate crime.  Jensen was told to get you down there.  That was it.”  Vince's voice was brusque.

Uh-oh.  That didn’t sound good.  Vince seemed upset, but I didn’t have a grasp of what it meant, in terms of our participation or how it might affect me personally.  Jensen didn't think of me as a suspect, but that might change if others were in charge of the investigation.

“How is that going to affect us?  Are we all going to be shut out?” I asked.

Vince was silent for a beat.  “I don’t know.  If it's a task force, then we'll have some involvement, but it's not our case anymore.”

“Did Jensen say anything else that I should know about?”

He sighed with displeasure.  “Be prepared for the agents in charge to question you about what you know.  They’re real curious about why the murderer left you a message.”

“Yeah, they’re not the only ones.”

Vince glanced in my direction.  “You know, Jensen thinks that the rock wasn’t there just to prevent the note from blowing away.”

“Oh?” I said, but I had a feeling that I knew what Vince was going to say.

“He’s pretty sure that the murderer left you the rock to touch, but the Feds aren’t talking.”

“Well…that just sucks.”  I sighed loudly and looked out the window.  Vince had elected to head east on 90 and then pick up 405 North toward Monroe.  It was a reasonable choice.  I was guessing that it would take at least forty-five minutes to get there, maybe more if we hit traffic.

Now that it had warmed up in the car, I rolled up my coat and used it as a pillow against the passenger window.  I really didn’t feel like talking, and some extra sleep was probably a good idea.  Stress always left me feeling depressed and tired.  Anyway, it was going to be a long drive, and I needed all of my wits once we arrived.  Although, with all the anxious thoughts running through my head, I wasn’t sure whether I’d have much success falling asleep.  I closed my eyes and focused on the sound of the tires while attempting to clear my mind.  After probably ten or fifteen minutes, I drifted off ito a light doze.

Sometime later, I was jostled out of sleep by the turn signal and a change in the sound of the tires.  I sat up slowly and blinked my eyes several times.

Vince smiled.  “Well, hello Sleeping Beauty.  Have a nice nap?”

“Sleeping Beauty wasn’t woken up by a turn signal.  Get your fairy tales straight, Vanelli.”

He laughed, and I peered through the windshield at the scenery.  The drizzle had tapered off, but the grey clouds were still looming.  We were on a two-lane highway that was edged by thick, moist grass and dense woods.  Every now and then the trees tapered off to reveal cultivated acreage and the occasional modest farmhouse.

“So where are we?” I asked.

“I just peeled off onto 522.  We’ll be there soon.”

My stomach capsized when I thought about meeting the FBI.  Going to a crime scene was bad enough, but going there to be interviewed by the FBI was quite another.  Worse, the murderer had made things personal.  I was a major bundle of nerves.  I sat quietly and picked at my fingernails apprehensively.  Vince glanced over occasionally, but remained silent.

We stopped for gas on the edge of town.  While Vince pumped and spoke to Jensen on his cell phone, I left the warmth of the car to visit the restroom.  Using a public restroom is always a perilous endeavor.  You don't even want to know about all the hoops I have to jump through to avoid accidental psi-exposure.  I have strong thigh muscles for a reason.  And let's just say I keep special tissues and an extra set of gloves in my purse for the undertaking.  The stupid bandage on my right hand only added to the misery.

By the time I returned, Vince was waiting inside the car.

“Any update from Jensen?”  I settled into my seat and struggled to close the door with my left hand.  I straightened out my coat and folded it across my lap.

“Nah.  He’ll be waiting for us in the parking lot.”

The ride turned out to be a short one.  The Safeway was a half-mile down the highway, on the left.  Our destination was behind the store, marked by several police vehicles, a medical examiners van, and five or six unmarked cars parked beyond an expanse of yellow ‘DO NOT CROSS’ tape.  Three news vehicles were parked haphazardly at the edge of the cordoned off area, along with more cars and dozens of people.  I’m pretty sure the camera crews were recording whatever was visible from that vantage point.

Vince stopped his car in front of the yellow tape, well away from the news crews.  He turned his head to look at me.  “You ready for this?”

I looked into my lap and breathed deeply.  I started to say, “Yes,” but looked at him and shook my head negatively.  “I’m nervous…and scared if you want to know the truth.”

He looked at me sympathetically and reached over to give my arm a gentle squeeze.  “It’ll be okay.  Don’t worry.  If you need a breather at any time, just let me know.  I can be a bulldog when I have to, as you well know.”

I gave him a weak smile and nodded.  “Okay.”

I removed my seatbelt, clutched my coat and leaned over the back seat to talk to Red.  As I did so, I noticed Jensen walking toward the car.  He lifted the stretch of tape so that Vince was able to drive inside the protected area and park.

“Red, I’ll feel better if you wait for me in the car.  There’s going to be way too many people to bring you out.  If anything happens like last time, I’d rather know that you’re somewhere safe.”

“All right, Lire.  Just make sure that you don’t take any unnecessary risks.  Vince, I’ll hold you accountable on that score.  Don’t let her take on more than she can handle.”

“You have my word,” Vince promised as he parked the car.

I waited until Vince got out and closed the door before speaking again to Red.  “I’ll do my best to be careful, but I don’t see how it could be worse than Patty's remains.”

“Maybe so, but I know you, Lire.  Consequences tend to be an afterthought for you.  Try to think before you act.”

“I’ll try.”

“I'm sure you will.”  Red sounded more than a little dubious.

I looked up through the back window and saw that the reporters had noticed our arrival.  “Oh great.  The vultures are about to descend.  I'm glad we’re inside the taped off area.”  I looked back down at Red.  “I’ll see you in a bit.  Maybe you should get down on the floor, in case someone looks into the car.  I love you.”

“I love you too, Lire.  Be safe.”

Vince opened my door.  I got out and made sure Vince locked the car before evaluating the scene around me.  A small crowd of individuals had quickly made their way toward our location, held at a fair distance by the yellow tape, and they were all shouting questions about the murder and the current crime scene.  To my disgust, my name was yelled more than a few times.  Both video and still cameras were aimed at us, and I heard the distinct sound of many shutters clicking away.

Following the two detectives, I walked across the parking lot and reassured myself that Red was safe in the car.  The police were in close proximity, but I was a little anxious about it anyway.  I hated leaving him behind.

When we were well away from the maelstrom of questions, Jensen regarded me.  “It’s a relief to see you up and around, Lire, especially after our last meeting.  How’re you feeling?”

“I’m doing okay.  A little tired, I guess.”  I paused and then added, “Honestly, I’m mostly just nervous.”

It was cold enough to need my coat, so I struggled with putting it on while we walked.  Vince noticed and slowed down his pace to help.  He held my coat by the collar, so I could get my bandaged hand through the sleeve easier.

We had stopped walking, and Jensen turned to reassure me.  “They’re going to have lots of questions for you, but the Special Agent in Charge, Agent Cunningham, seems decent.  And I’ve made it very clear how much you've already sacrificed.  You’ll be fine.  If you need a rest, be sure to let Vince or me know.  We don't want you taking any unnecessary risks.”

I breathed a sigh of relief.  “Thanks.  That makes me feel better, actually.”

He nodded and then directed us toward the back of the parking lot, where the pavement met the landscape.  The area was cultivated professionally for the first six feet or so—only what was visible from the lot.  Past that point the foliage was left in its natural state.  The mature, densely growing trees were interspersed with overgrown bushes and weeds, which made for a fairly twisted path toward the crime scene.

The scene itself was only about fifteen yards away, but not visible from the parking lot.  I asked how the site was discovered.  Apparently two employees were outside, presumably for a smoke, when they stumbled upon the pile of bones.  I knew from Jensen’s rakishly raised eyebrows that he meant the couple was looking for a place to fool around.

I blurted, “Well that sure put a crimp in their mo, I bet.”

I think Vince almost choked, he laughed so suddenly, and I was relieved to see that Jensen was chuckling too.  It didn’t seem right to be laughing near a murder scene, but I couldn’t help myself.

We walked another ten feet or so before the site was visible.  It was surrounded by several groups of people, some in uniform and others in suits, and most of them turned to observe our arrival.  Magic tickled my senses as we drew closer, and I felt my smile fade down to a thin, nervous grin.

Jensen ignored the people standing at the periphery and walked purposefully toward the center of the scene.  Without looking down, I sensed the moment we entered the circle.  The magic vibrated at a fever pitch and then lessened slightly when we crossed over the boundary.  The residual magic was quite strong—much stronger than Jason’s murder scene—and I found it difficult to think clearly.  That alone made it obvious that the murder occurred recently.  My gait slowed, and I eventually stopped altogether while I tried to get my senses under control.

Vince noticed my discomfort.  “Lire, you okay?”

Jensen stopped several feet away and turned to look at me.

I waved my left hand in front of my face in a fanning motion as though the action would help clear the air.  I inhaled deeply.  “Uh, it’s the residual magic…it’s very strong.  I’ll be okay in a moment.  I think.”

I looked up at Vince and would have smiled, except that things were starting to get a bit fuzzy around the edges of my vision.  No!  No!  I won’t faint, I scolded myself.  I concentrated on taking deep breaths and rubbed my forehead to help me regain some composure.  Vince must have thought I was going to pass out again because he quickly grabbed my upper arm.  Amazingly, as soon as he grabbed me, I felt almost instantly better.  The magic was still there, beating against my skin like a swarm of static charged gnats, but it was less overwhelming, and I was able to think clearly again.

I smiled tentatively, and Vince let go of my arm.  “Thanks.  I think I’m okay now.”

Vince’s expression changed from one of intense concern to considerable relief.  I might have stopped to consider his seemingly meliorative touch, but didn't have time.

Jensen walked up with a man in a nicely fitted, single-breasted grey suit and unbuttoned black trench coat.  The suit jacket was also unbuttoned, but the conservative print tie was still knotted tightly at his neck.  If this was Agent Cunningham, he was a bit more ethnic looking than I expected.  He was dark of hair and eye with blunt facial features and light olive skin.  His teenage years must not have been kind, because he was left with a pitted complexion that gave him a rugged appearance.

“Lire, are you okay?” Jensen asked.

“Yeah.  For a second or two I wasn’t so sure, but I think I’m okay now.”

“What happened?”  The man spoke with a tone that demanded a prompt response.  He was a little taller than me, maybe five ten, with an average build, but his voice sounded like it should have come from a much larger individual.  It was deep and authoritative.

“Lire, this is Special Agent in Charge Cunningham,” Jensen interjected.

“Nice to meet you, Agent Cunningham.”  I belatedly hoped it was okay to shorten his title.

The agent nodded at me.  “How are you doing?  I understand that you were just released from the hospital, this morning.”

“I’m okay so far.  The residual magic overwhelmed me for a moment, but I’m all righ now.”

He regarded me closely.  “Did you have this same reaction at the other crime scene?”

“Not to this degree—probably because that scene was older.”

Agent Cunningham folded his arms across his chest.  “Uh-huh.  Can you tell us what spells were used here?”

I tried not to show my surprise.  Cunningham was a highly placed agent.  He had to know that I wasn't capable of sensing that type of detail, but I answered anyway.  “No.  I’m sorry.  I can only sense that several different spells were used, but not what they were.  A skilled witch or warlock should be able to tell you, if not the specific spells, at least the class of spells that were used.”

He nodded.  “We’ve already contacted our magic expert.  He should be here in the next few hours.”  The Agent In Charge looked at Vince and extended his hand.  “You must be Detective Vanelli.”

Vince shook his hand, acknowledging Cunningham's guess by tipping his head slightly.  “Yes.  Good to meet you, Agent Cunningham.”

Cunningham looked down at his watch before looking up to give me another considering look.  “Ms. Devon, are you aware of the reason for your presence here today?”

“I assumed to continue providing relevant leads on the case.”

“Yes, I am aware of your contribution, Ms. Devon, and hope you will continue to provide us with useful information.  Specifically, we hope you will be able to enlighten us as to why the murderer chose to leave you a message.”  His gaze was penetrating.

I shivered.  “I really have no idea.  And, to be honest with you, I almost don’t want to know.”

He nodded.  “Be that as it may, the murderer chose to include you personally.  Come with me.”

Cunningham walked toward the bones that were piled in the center of the dirt circle.  When he reached the far side of the pile, he turned and I followed his gaze.  On the ground next to the bones was a white piece of paper inside a sealed plastic bag.  The package was weighed down by a dark oval rock, approximately two-inches long.  From my vantage, I could see that there was black writing on the paper.  The rock itself looked to be nothing more than a polished river stone, but knowing that it had been left by the murderer made it seem sinister to the extreme.

“What does the note say?” I asked.

“You can pick it up and see for yourself.  The forensic team has already checked everything out, but please don’t take the note out of the plastic—it needs to be sent to the lab for examination.  It's unfolded, so you can read it without removing it.  I replaced the note and the rock in its original location, so you could see approximately how the murderer left it for you.”

My stomach plunged when I heard the words 'how the murderer left it for you'.  It sounded so personal, which of course, it was.  I looked sharply at the agent until I realized that I was staring at him.  I wondered briefly why Cunningham thought it was important for me to see its original placement, but decided that if he hadn’t, I probably would have asked about it later.  I crouched down and stared at the rock.  There didn’t seem to be anything significant about how the rock was positioned nor did I sense any additional magic around the note.  With my hand protected by my glove, I knew there wasn’t a risk examining it, but I couldn’t help being a little tentative.  If someone had sneezed when I reached for it, I probably would have jumped a mile, but I picked it up without any major hysterics.

I turned it over in my hand and confirmed that it wajust an ordinary river rock, worn so smooth that I wanted to rub it with my bare fingers.  I placed it in the palm of my bandaged hand, so that I was free to pick up the bagged note.  Through the plastic, I saw that a white piece of letter-sized paper had been folded in half like a card, but it was now lying flat.  The page was slightly spotted by the rain, but my name was plainly visible, written in neat, black block lettering.  The ink had not blurred from the moisture, so I surmised that it was written with permanent pen.

I stood up, being careful to keep my bandaged hand level so the stone didn’t tumble off.  Rotating the bag, I read the contents of the note.  In precise lettering it said, “A little something for you to read…"

The murderer obviously knew that I was a clairvoyant helping the police with the case.  Yet another reason I wanted to smack the person who leaked my name to the press.  I wouldn’t be here, reading a letter from my newest psychotic pen pal, if it weren’t for whoever had gone out of their way to blab my name to a reporter.

“Well, I guess it isn’t too tough to figure out that the murderer wants me to touch the rock.”  I addressed myself to Cunningham, since he seemed to be running the show now.

He nodded.  “It seems a safe assumption.”

“Has someone already read it?”  I tried to keep my voice from sounding hopeful.

“No.  Our primary consultant is busy with another case and won’t be available for at least forty-eight hours.  If possible, we were hoping you could take a look at the stone right away to give us a head start.” Cunningham’s unwavering gaze was so direct that his request seemed more like a command.

My stomach clenched and all I could think about was how much I wanted to turn around and go back home.  Instead, I mumbled an unhappy acknowledgement and, after a moment’s hesitation, gave him a stiff nod.

Jensen asked, “Are you sure you’re up for it, Lire?”

I looked down at the unassuming rock and bit my lower lip.  “Yeah, I can do it.  But I need to be well outside the circle.  The residual magic here is really distracting.”

Cunningham admitted, “I’m afraid we’re roughing it out here.  The Safeway manager has offered us the use of his back office if you prefer to be indoors.”

I didn’t want to come off high maintenance, so I resigned myself to the outdoors.  “That’s okay.  Out here is fine, unless it starts raining.  I’d just like a blanket or something to sit on.  The ground is a bit damp.”

“Certainly.”

When Cunningham walked away to locate something for me to sit on, Vince turned to me.  “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

I was comforted by the fact that he and Jensen were concerned about me.  I smiled at Vince warmly.  “Yeah.  I’ll be fine as long as I’m out of the circle.  The residual magic is wreaking havoc with my shield, just like last time.”

I looked down at the rock again and noticed black smudges on my white bandages where the rock had shifted in my hand.  “What’s that?  It doesn’t look like dirt.”

Vince and Jensen both looked down at my extended hand.  “Dusting powder.”  They answered nearly simultaneously.

I remembered Cunningham’s comment about the forensic team.  “Right.  Agent Cunningham mentioned something about that.  They actually found some fingerprints?”

“From what I understand, yes,” Jensen answered.

“I’m surprised.  I wouldn’t have thought you cou get prints from a porous surface like that.”

“Porous items can be difficult, but they're not impossible,” Vince said.  “That pebble is pretty smooth, so it probably wasn’t much of a challenge.”

As we waited for Cunningham to return, my eyes gravitated toward Vince’s strong jaw and warm eyes.  This brought on a distinct spike in hormones, so I distracted myself by surreptitiously observing the people standing around the edge of the crime scene.

There were three groups of loosely gathered men scattered throughout the south side of the site, and I noticed that all of them were standing outside of the circle.  Considering the relative difficulty of finding a clear space to stand within the foliage, it was interesting that, out of nearly a dozen people, only three of us were standing inside the circle.  I wondered if they sensed the magic unconsciously, or whether just the thought of what had happened inside made it distasteful.

While I was musing, Cunningham returned to the site and spoke with another suit.  During their exchange, the four men nearby looked over in our direction, none of their expressions terribly friendly.  I tried not to jump to conclusions, but it appeared that not everyone in the FBI was enthusiastic about clairvoyants.  One of the men, a beefy blonde, had his arms folded tightly across his chest and fairly glowered at me.  So, of course, I purposefully returned his gaze with an utterly angelic expression and deliberately held his eyes.  He looked away first.

Vince must have noticed the exchange because I heard him chuckle.  I cocked my head to give him a sideways glance.  Vince had turned his back toward the blonde agent and was attempting to smother a smile with his hand.  I smiled broadly at him, the model of innocence.  “What?”

Vince shook his head and laughed.  “Miss Devon, I like your style.”

Jensen laughed as well, and I looked back and forth between the two detectives with a sly grin on my face.  Before I could respond further, Cunningham approached with a small package in his hand that he casually slapped against his thigh.

When he reached us, Cunningham held out the package to me and asked, “How far do you need to go?  There’s a small clearing about ten yards that way.”  He gestured over my shoulder.

My hands were full, so I traded him the bagged note from the murderer and stuck the rock in my coat pocket.  The package he handed me was a Mylar blanket that he probably got from the ambulance out in the parking lot.  Gone were the days of bulky, orange wool blankets, but at least this one had the advantage of being waterproof and psi-free.

Cunningham led the way through the woods.  We followed him single file along a skinny, well-defined path through the densely growing bushes.  Whistle While You Work from Snow White came to mind, but I suppressed the urge to hum it out loud.  We arrived at the open area between the trees without accompaniment.  The clearing was not huge—maybe twenty feet in diameter, but it was free of rocks and there was more than enough room for the unfolded foil blanket and several bystanders.  I busied myself with unfolding the blanket, and then Jensen helped me lay it on the ground.

Cross-legged, in the middle of the foil blanket, I felt like a fish in a fishbowl, with the three men standing around, looking down at me.  I wished that Cunningham had thought to get another blanket or two for themselves.  It was going to be difficult to ignore their scrutiny, and I really could have done without feeling so self-conscious.  At least I was no longer able to sense the magic from the circle.

I dug into my coat pocket for the rock and placed in the blanket in front of me.

“If anything should go wrong, please don’t put me in an ambulance.  Detective Vanelli can take me home.  If I'm not recovered by the time we hit Seattle, he can detour to Swedish.”  I realized that no matter what I said, they’d probably hand me over to the paramedics anyway, but it was worth a try.

Jensen looked uneasy and Vince didn’t look much better.  Cunningham seemed to be unperturbed—probably because he wasn’t on hand when I almost fried myself.  I couldn’t help but laugh at Jensen’s expression.

“Don’t worry, Lieutenant.  This is a non-organic object and a very straightforward reading.  It won’t be like what happened with Patty’s remains.  The only complication is that I haven’t had much to eat today, so I’m running a little low on stamina.”

“I’m sorry, Lire,” said Vince.  “I should have stopped for something on the way here.”

I dismissed his apology with a wave of my hand.  “No, no.  It’s okay.  I really wasn’t hungry.  I’m still not hungry, so don’t worry about it.”

They looked at each other uncertainly, but I ignored it.  First the murderer's note and now the prospect of reading the stone had left me with a nervous stomach.  There was no way I was going to force myself to eat something, even if I did need the energy.

Removing my glove was a bit of a struggle.  Only my thumb was free on my bandaged hand and the blisters were already throbbing from the process of laying out the blanket.  Jensen asked if I needed help, but I shook my head.  I carefully used my teeth without letting the fabric touch my lips.  It wasn't easy, but the glove finally came off.

With nothing left to do, I nodded at the boys and reluctantly picked up the rock.

Immediately, magic flared from my core.  I struggled with hanging onto my shield, but after a couple of tense seconds, managed to get it under control.  In spite of my jitters, I manipulated the stream and coaxed it into a beautiful, shining disk.  I always found it ironic that the stream looked so spectacular in my mind's eye but, so often it seemed, contained such horrible, corrosive memories.

After skimming the surface of the disk, I had no trouble determining that the entire flow was tinged with the flavor of strong emotion.  Since the rock was left by a murderer, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the emotions were not going to be pleasant.  I coasted back to the center of the disk and plunged into the flow at the beginning…

Fear envelops me like an ill-fitting skin suit and it is so overwhelming that my stomach churns.  I take several deep breaths and it helps very little, but I don’t throw up.

Oh Jesus!  How did this happen?  Why is this happening to me?  Why can’t I use my magic?  God, if I could just use my power!  I’d shove a spike up his ass so far, he’d get brain freeze.  But the demon.  Dear God…the demon!  It’s in a circle, but maybe he's going to let it out.   Please don’t let the demon get me!  Shit!  I’m supposed to be listening to him.  He told me to listen.   If I do everything right, maybe he’ll let me go like he says…

I focus upon a figure, clad from head to toe in dark clothing.  It is dark outside, but I can see that he is wearing a hood and mask.  His hands are gesticulating wildly.  Every now and then something glints on his left hand.  I am disturbed by a memory of someone grabbing me from behind and forcing something over my mouth and nose.  A wave of terror threatens to overtake me.

“…are you listening?  Answer me now, or face the conseques.  Are you listening?” the cloaked figure demands.

I scream in a combination of anger and terror, “Yes!”

He rubs his hands together gleefully.  “Good!  Good!  Listen well.  Hello, my dear Lire.  Lire, I hope you’re in there, sharing, experiencing, listening.  Yesss.  Lire, listen well.  This message is for you.”

What the hell?  What is this crazy-ass psycho talking about?  Who is Lire?  Please, God!  Maybe he’ll show up.  Maybe he will help me.  God, let this Lire help me!  Don’t let me die!  How can this be happening? What did he just say?  Shit!  I missed it…

“…working with the police.  I know you want to find me.  You want to avenge your dearest Nick.  But you won’t, you know.  I’m much too powerful, and, anyway, they won’t let you.”  He laughs heartily.  “It’s rather amusing, really.  My enemy is your enemy.  We’re practically on the same side!”  His laugh disgusts me.  What a scumbag.

I struggle futilely at the bonds that encircle my wrists.  There is little play in the rope and both my wrists and ankles are staked tightly to the ground.  Who is this enemy he is talking about?  I wonder…I remember hearing about a murder, recently… Dammit!  He’s talking again.  Pay attention!

“Here’s a bit of friendly advice…stop looking for me.  Because, sooner or later they’ll come calling, and, believe me, you’re no match for them.  They don’t want the police to catch me, you see.  They’ll work their deceptions, their subtle magic, and then catching me suddenly won’t seem so important.”

My mind begins to churn over what will happen next, but the cloaked figure pauses and steps forward, which keeps my attention from wandering.  “If you’re lucky, that’s all that will happen.  But if you’re stubborn…well, let’s just say that you won’t be in your right mind for long.”

He sighs, “Ah.  But I know you, Lire.  You won’t stop, will you?  No.  You’re much too stubborn for that.  How do I know, you might ask?  I told you…I know you.  Shall I prove it?  Hmm, yes, let’s do that…  Let’s see…it all started when you asked your mother why she had been naked with Uncle Byron, didn’t it?  You were holding her hand at the park that day and saw everything.  She never touched you again, did she?  And it wasn’t long before you were packed off to boarding school.  Not too surprising, I guess.  Oh, and how is Red doing?  Yes, I know about him too.  The guilt gift your father gave you, so that he didn’t have to feel so bad about sending you away.  A smart gift, I’d say.  Red talked you out of suicide when you were thirteen.  You’re certain that if he hadn’t interfered, you would have followed through.  And then there’s your dearest Nick.  Your first love.  Your first kiss.  Your first fuck.  How tragic it was when your powers deviated.  Is that enough?  Have I convinced you?”

The robes swirl around his feet as the black clad figure pulls on a pair of black gloves.  “Since, I know that you will continue helping the ridiculously inept police and eventually the FBI, who are certain to be called in at some point very soon, and because it serves my purpose, I will share something with you.  But I won’t make it easy for you.  No.  I think you know what you’re going to have to touch next, and it won’t be nearly as pleasant as this.”

He strides forward and grabs the stone from my hand.

Although the tall trees blocked much of the ambient light, the sudden brightness was nearly blinding.  I blinked desperately and shielded myself with my now empty left hand.  The black rock was lying on the blanket, where I involuntarily dropped it.  My heart raced madly, and I grappled with the mix of emotions that threatened to break out.  My breathing was labored as though I had just sprinted a hundred yard dash.  I wanted to scream.  I wanted to cry.  But most of all, I wanted to get my hands on the murderer and beat him into bloody pulp.  I closed my eyes and imagined flames engulfing his black robes, burning his skin, and the sickening sweet smell of burning flesh.  My mind wheeled with the foreign thoughts, Patty’s thoughts.  Once again, I fought not to vomit.  I whimpered instead.

“Lire?”  Vince’s voice cut through my thoughts.  When I looked up, he was crouched in front of me on the blanket.  “You okay?”

I shook my head.  “Not really.”  I ran my fingers through my hair nervously.  “I’d really love something to hit, I think.”

I took a shuddering, deep breath, letting it out slowly as I glanced up at Jensen and Cunningham.  They both nodded their understanding.

“I'd rather not stand in for that job.”  Vince chuckled.  “Anything else we can do?”

I smiled at his quip and answered with a wave of my hand.  “No.  Thanks.  I’m better now.”

“What did you come up with, Ms. Devon?” Cunningham asked as Vince moved back to stand along side Jensen.

I looked up, instantly sobering.  My voice sounded weary.  “Plenty.  But can you guys sit down here with me?  I’m getting a kink in my neck just looking up at you.”

Cunningham smiled and gave me a stiff nod.  “That can be arranged.”  He didn’t sound put-out, thankfully.

“Much as I want to stay and hear this, can I get you something to eat, Lire?” Jensen asked.

I smiled grimly.  “I’m not very hungry, but I know I need to eat something.  Yeah, that would be nice.  Thank you.  I’ll need all the energy I can get if I’m going to touch the remains.”

“What?”  Vince's eyes were wide and disbelieving.  “Are you crazy?  That’s what put you in the hospital.  It nearly killed you!”

“Jesus, Lire,” Jensen echoed.

I held up my hand to silence their protestations.  “You’ll understand after you hear what the murderer told me.  Trust me.  If we want to know what the murderer is up to, I have to do it.”  I paused.  “And more importantly, I want to do it.”

Vince shook his head and Jensen looked doubtful.  My gaze fell on Agent Cunningham.  He was regarding me closely, with his arms folded tightly across his chest.

“Let’s take this one step at a time.  Lieutenant Jensen can pick up something for you to eat while you brief us.  Then we can decide how best to proceed.”  He used the term ‘we’, but I knew he meant 'I'.  I tried not to think about how I was going to feel if Cunningham didn’t allow me to touch the remains.  Frustrated.  Helpless.  Angry.

“What do you want, Lire?” Jensen asked.

It took me a half-second, but I realized that he was asking about food, not what I wanted to do about the remains.  I thought it over briefly.  I needed something that wouldn’t upset my already queasy stomach.  “How about getting me something from Safeway?  There are usually prepackaged psi-free items in the deli case.  A cheese sandwich is fine…or tuna fish.  And a drink, please.  Maybe some potato chips?  I’ll pay you back later.”

Predictably, he told me not to worry about it and walked out of the clearing toward the parking lot.

“If you don’t min, Lire, I’d like to videotape you.  That way we don’t need to have a large number of people standing around you.”

I wasn’t terribly excited about the prospect of having the more personal information of the reading caught on tape for anyone to hear.  The murderer had revealed some very private details about my life, and I wasn’t looking forward to throwing them out there for anyone but my closest friends to discuss.

I nodded reluctantly.  “Fine.”

When Cunningham had left, Vince crouched down across from me again.

“What’s going on, Lire?” he asked quietly.  “Why are you talking about putting yourself at risk with the remains?”

I looked at him intently, my anger and frustration boiling under the surface.  “He knows me, Vince.  He knows me.  I’ve been racking my brain, trying to figure out who he might be.  I must know him, but I can’t place his voice.”  When my blisters suddenly began hurting, I realized that both of my hands were clutched into fists.  I had to force myself to open them and relax.  “He wants me to touch the remains.  He wants to taunt me further with what he’s up to.  I’m hoping that the more I see and hear, the better my chance to figure out who he is.”

“What do you mean?  Why do you say he knows you?”

“He mentioned several things about my private life—things very few people know.  And before you ask, they aren’t the type of people who would blab it all over the place.  I can count on one hand the number of people I’ve confided in.  You’re one of them.”

He looked at me in surprise.

“I don’t know how he learned these things, but maybe he overheard me or something—not somebody close to me, but maybe an acquaintance.  I don’t know!  All I know is that I have to hear what else he has to say.  I might be able to pick up on something that another clairvoyant might miss—something personal to me.  Anyway, I have to try…for Nick.”

“But you could die.  Is it really worth that?”

Was this just normal concern, or something more?  I gave him a reassuring look.  “Don’t worry.  I have a lot of things to live for these days.  I don’t plan on dying any time soon.  Besides, we don’t know that the remains are as dangerous as Patty’s.  Go and get my purse.  Have Red climb inside and then take him through the circle on the way back here.  Try to walk as close to the bones as possible, so Red can get a sense of whether an entrapment spell was used.”

Vince nodded.

“I’ll tell you what, though.  I sure wish we were back at my place, pigging out on lasagna, instead of doing this.”

“Me too.”  He squeezed my arm quickly and then got up and walked out the way Jensen had gone.

It wasn’t long before Cunningham tromped back to the clearing with two other men trailing behind.  The first of them was carrying a small case, which I guessed held the video camera.  In the other hand was a folded up tripod.  My stomach sank when I realized the second man was the agent I had stared down earlier.  He was carrying a folded metal chair.  I wished suddenly that I hadn’t sent Vince to the car.

“Where’s Detective Vanelli?” Cunningham asked when he saw that I was alone.  He was holding several packages of mylar blankets.

“I asked him to go back to the car for my purse.”

He frowned slightly, but nodded and then introduced the two agents.  Agent Tormino was the slim, brown haired one with the video equipment, and Agent Miller was the stocky blonde with the doface.  I said the polite things you’re supposed to say and then did my best to ignore them while Tormino set up the video equipment.  I busied myself with putting my glove back on my left hand, which was a relatively frustrating experience without the help of my right hand.  Again, I resorted to using my teeth.  To my relief, Agent Miller only stayed as long as was necessary to set down the folding chair for Tormino.

Jensen was the next to return.  He arrived just as Tormino finished mounting the camera on the tripod.  Although Jensen didn’t say anything, I figured that he was pleased to have not missed anything.  I opened up the plastic grocery bag that he handed me and found a plastic encased cheese sandwich, bottled ice tea, small bag of potato chips, and a chocolate chip cookie.  A straw and a utensil pack were on the bottom.  I verified that everything was psi-free.  Upon seeing the cookie, I looked up at him and beamed.

I waved the cookie at him.  “Wow, Jensen.  You sure know the way to a woman’s heart.  Thank you.”

He smiled.  “Don’t mention it.”

“Aww, did you bring any for me?  I have a heart too you know.”  Tormino looked at Jensen longingly.

“Yeah, but you’re not nearly so nice to look at, Tormino.”

He laughed.  “Can’t argue with that.”

I shook my head and laughed as I took out the sandwich and opened the packaging.  Thankfully, the men stayed busy with various private discussions until I had mostly finished my lunch, so I didn’t feel particularly rushed.  Vince showed up three bites into the second half of my sandwich and handed me my purse without comment.

Our eyes met, and I had to simply say, “Thank you,” instead of asking him what Red discovered near the remains.  There were too many people around for me to talk openly about Red, much less open my purse and ask him myself.  I had to resign myself to wait, but I wasn’t happy about it.

Agent Cunningham handed out the additional mylar blankets to Jensen and Vince.  I hoped that Miller wouldn’t be returning.  I didn’t see Cunningham hoarding any more packages, so maybe Tormino was the only addition to the group.  I loathed the idea of revealing anything remotely personal with Agent Miller around.  Agent Tormino, who seemed like a nice guy, sat on the metal chair across from me and adjusted the video camera for a better angle.  He looked ready to go.  Immediately the butterflies in my stomach started playing do-si-do with my lunch.  I hoped that eating it wasn’t a mistake.

I sipped infrequently at the remains of my tea and looked at Agent Cunningham.  “So, I can do another reading for the camera, and describe everything that happens.  Is that what you had in mind?”

“Yes.  Will it be possible to question you while you’re…working?”

“Yeah, that shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”  I capped off the bottle, and tied it off in the plastic grocery bag along with my cookie and leftover chips.  I placed the bag and my purse off to the side and hoped it wouldn’t be visible by the video camera.  “Okay.  Let me know when you’re ready.”

Once everyone was settled, Cunningham turned toward Tormino and gave him the go ahead.

The red light turned green on the camera, and then Tormino gave me a wink.  “Action.”

I smiled at him and then looked around at the observers in an attempt to ignore the camera.  “Uh, first of all, let me start by telling you what this is all about.”  I picked up the rock and displayed it.  “The murderer left a psychic message for me by having his victim hold this while he delived a monologue.  The victim was instructed to pay very close attention to everything he said.  He threatened her with horrible consequences if she interrupted him or failed to focus on his every word.”

I looked at the rock, turning it in my hand, and then brought my attention back to Cunningham.  “If the woman who held the rock for this message is the murder victim, then her name is Trinity Wilson.  She was a cryokinetic.  For those of you who don’t know, a cryokinetic is a psychic that has the ability to dissipate ambient heat.  They are often called ‘icemakers’ because, instead of generating heat like a pyrokinetic, they take it away.  They can freeze almost anything, instantly.”

I removed my glove and threw it into my lap.  I was getting better at doing it with one hand.  “Okay.  That’s it.  Do you have any questions before I continue with the reading?”

“Yes.  What else can you tell us about the victim?  Where was she from?  How and where was she captured?” Cunningham asked.

“I am fairly certain that she was taken from behind and chloroformed, but because she is so focused on the murderer, I received very few other memories.  I will have to touch her remains to give you any further personal details.”

“For this thing with the rock, were they here at the murder scene?” Vince asked.

I cocked my eyes to the side and thought about it.  “It was dark, but trees were in the background.  It’s possible.  I can’t tell you for certain though.”

“Did she see any more of the murderer than the other victims?” Jensen asked.

“No.  If anything, she saw less.  It was dark, and he was wearing a hooded cloak with a mask.  Everything was dark.  He was dressed all in black.  Every part of his body.”  I gasped, “Wait.  Now that I think about it, he was wearing a ring.  On his left hand, I think.  Yes.  I remember something glittering when he was moving his hands.”

Cunningham looked pleased.  “Very good.  Anything else?  How tall is he?”

I considered the victim’s viewpoint.  “Hard to tell.  The victim was sitting down, but…”  I evaluated the group of men.  “Detective Vanelli is too tall.  I’d say that the murderer is a couple inches shorter, at least.  Maybe closer to your height, Agent Cunningham.”

Vince evaluated him.  “So, maybe five eleven?”

Cunningham corrected, “Five ten, more like.”

I shrugged.  “It’s a good guess, anyway.”

“From any of your other readings, did you get an impression of his hair color?” Cunningham asked.

Jason’s experience had been at night, like Trinity’s.  So I closed my eyes and thought about Patty’s recollections.  Patty was the only one to see him, during the day.  Of course, he had been wearing a hat and scarf that covered almost everything.

I answered.  “No.  I can’t say for sure.  It’s more of a feeling, really.  I think he probably has brown hair.  Patty couldn't see much of his face, but he didn’t appear to have the coloring that would fit with someone really fair.”

Cunningham nodded.  “Okay, Ms. Devon, why don’t you proceed with the reading now?  If we have any other questions, we’ll let you know.”

“Okey doke.”

I mentally prepared myself for another run at the rock.  The second or subsequent reading was always easier because there was no shock value to worry about.  Once things were spinning, I started at the beginning and described everything I experienced with as mudetail as possible.

Almost immediately, Cunningham wanted me to do a freeze-frame on the murderer.  Clearly he hoped that I might discover some distinguishing mark or feature if I examined the perpetrator closely enough.  I had to explain that people’s memories don’t work like a film reel.  You can’t just freeze on a slice of time and inspect every detail with perfect clarity.  I deal with people’s memories, although, the psychic stream tends to be clearer.  I experience about as much detail that might be gleaned by someone going under hypnosis and being asked to recall small details.  Of course, some memories are clearer than others.  Most people easily recall faces of those who are closest to them.  For example, I can remember my father’s face with almost photo-like clarity, but, tomorrow, I’ll only vaguely be able to remember Agent Miller’s face.

Because I wanted Cunningham to know that I was doing my best for him, I offered to go back and examine the murderer after I finished with the recitation.  I hoped my extra effort would make him more predisposed to allow me access to the remains.

With my limitations explained, I continued recounting the murderer’s message as Trinity had heard it.  I decided against asking Tormino to switch off the camera before relating the murderer’s knowledge of my personal life.  Turning off the camera would only draw more attention to the intimate nature of the facts.  Instead, I recited the murderer’s statements dispassionately as though he was talking about someone else, not me.  If anyone was shocked, I didn’t perceive it; of course, my eyes were closed, so I was unable to evaluate their facial expressions.

I finished the reading without noticing anything new, but as promised, carefully reexamined the stream and focused all of my attention on the murderer’s appearance.  Unfortunately, I didn't reveal anything major—just that the ring was on his left middle finger and he was wearing white athletic shoes under the robe.

Too late, I realized that my energy reserves were running on empty.  I had pushed myself right to the limit.  I quickly withdrew from the stream and dropped the rock, but I knew that I’d be lucky just to make it back to the car on my own two feet.  The world looked grainy when I opened my eyes.  I had to take deep breaths and lower my head to avoid passing out.

“I’m afraid that’s it for me today, guys.”  My voice wavered like an old phonograph record.

“That’s fine.  Thank you, Lire,” Cunningham said.

Outwardly I remained calm.  Inside, I surged with frustration.  Now, I was certainly in no condition to read the remains.  They would have to wait.  Worse, with the recent FBI involvement, it was distinctly possible that I wouldn’t be given the opportunity to read them in the future.  The FBI’s own clairvoyant was showing up soon and there would be no further need for my help.

After taking a few minutes to recover, I stood up without passing out.  I made a fateful decision and asked Vince to take me back to his car.  I was done for the day.  The others were very sympathetic, and I agreed to visit the FBI field office in Seattle the following morning.  Cunningham, in an effort to make me feel at ease, told me that no readings would be involved.  He just wanted to interview me about my previous readings of Jason and Patty.  This reassurance did nothing but make me feel worse.  I simply had to read the remains.

Vince started to walk straight over to the parking lot, but I asked him to go back the way we came, in order to give Red additional time inside the circle.  I wanted to see if Red was able to pinpoint the target of the confinement spell.  It was a longer walk, and I hoped that I could mait.  When we were safely away from the others, I opened my bag and asked Red what he detected earlier when Vince had taken him past the remains.

Red confirmed that a containment spell had been cast, just like at Jason’s crime scene.  I suspected as much because, although I received very few personal details about Trinity, I still got the feeling that she was a decent person.  If she was able to resist Paimon’s persuasions, then it was a good bet that the demon confined her soul to her remains, as it did to Jason.  At least, that’s what I hoped.  It was possible that the demon had decided to confine her soul to something that was removed from the site, but I avoided thinking along those lines.  I desperately hoped that her soul was inside the bones; otherwise, reading them would be extremely risky, even on a good day.

By the time we reached the circle, I was finding it difficult to walk without an outward display of weakness.  If Vince knew just how exhausted I was, he’d have ordered me to the car immediately.  I gritted my teeth and walked confidently toward the remains.  Only a few stragglers were left at the scene.  They were talking at the end of the circle furthest away from the demon-tainted grass patch.  Vince followed close behind me.  He had already asked me twice whether I was okay.  I think he resolved not to ask me again, especially after I snapped that I was a big girl and could take care of myself.  To soften my retort, I said that I’d let him know if I needed to be carried and gave him a wink.

Standing in front of the bones, as though I was studying them for a good reason, I asked God to protect me from what was probably a major blunder.

Vince must have suspected something.  He stepped forward and called my name, but before he could stop me, I dropped to my knees, let go of my purse and glove, which I purposely left off, and grabbed the closest bone.

My magic flared outward.  I had enough time to say, “I have to know,” and then a desperate cold exploded into my mind.  The unstoppable force coursed through my body, sending spikes of icy power through every cell.  My back arched involuntarily as Vince grabbed me, and I remember marveling at the crystallized breath that flowed steadily from my mouth.  As I blacked out from the psychic onslaught, all I could think was that Red was going to be really pissed off at me.

I woke up face down and shivering on an icy floor.  Half of my face and the entire length of my body were numb from cold.  Unsteadily, I rolled to a sitting position and rubbed my arms vigorously in a vain attempt to warm myself.  Icy clouds bellowed from my mouth as I breathed, and my teeth chattered together violently.

This is a little better than being surrounded by a burning inferno, but not by much, I thought to myself.  Actually, a nice warm fire sounded downright appealing.

I was beginning to lose feeling in my bottom, so I stood up carefully, made an effort not to slip on the ice, and looked around.  It appeared as though I was standing in the middle of an ice rink, although, this one was unlike any rink that I had seen before.  Not only was the ice a pure, perfect white, but the oval was surrounded by a carved stone balustrade, like the one I saw in my dream when I first met Jason.

From behind me I heard a slicing sound and turned around to see Jason skating toward me with the ease of an ice hockey veteran.  He flicked his heels to the side and made a perfect stop directly next to where I was standing.

“Shuh-show off,” I scolded from between my chattering teeth.

“You should talk—taking the bone in your hand when you were in such a weakened state.  What were you thinking?”

More skating sounds came from down the rink where a diminutive woman dressed in a leotard and tights was spinning on one leg.  She stopped with a flourish and then continued to move around the rink gracefully, now and then performing a difficult looking maneuver.  After landing a complicated spinning jump, she laughed and then skated nonchalantly toward Jason and me.

The first thing I noticed was her size.  She was tiny.  Well, not the size of a Brownie or anything—she was just pretty darn petite for a human woman.  Her nearly black hair fell below her shoulders, held back by a silver headband.  It was flatiron straight and incredibly shiny.  The color reminded me of my mother’s before she went grey, although, my mother’s hair wasn’t straight.  As the woman skated closer, I saw that she had fairly ordinary features; small, almond shaped brown eyes, a straight nose, and thin lips.  She appeared to be in her mid to late twenties.  I’d say that she was more cute than beautiful, and her size only helped to accentuate that appearance.

“Not too shabby.”  Jason twirled his finger in the air to emphasize his point.  He turned back to me.  “Lire, this is Trinity.”

“Nuh-nice to muh-meet you.”

“Jason tells me that you’re going to help us.”

I looked at Jason and tried to smile, but I mostly just chattered.  “You cuh-can buh-bet on it.”

Trinity looked at me curiously.  “You’re not going to be much help if you can’t even control your own temperature.”

I must not have given her a look of confidence because she raised her hands to my temples and said, “Here.”

At her touch, a cold essence spiraled through my consciousness, bringing a knowledge of power so vast that it quite literally brought me to my knees.  I looked up at her with a mixture of surprise and awe.  Here was someone with ultimate power, a power capable of complete destruction, yet she never abused it.  She was the antithesis of Patty, whose corruption seemingly knew no bounds.

“Th-thank Guh-God.  You’ll buh-balance her out nuh-nicely.”

Trinity figured out what I meant because she smiled at me with a sad and sympathetic expression and nodded.

Suddenly, I doubled over in pain that radiated from the center of my body.  If Jason hadn’t immediately crouched down to steady me, I would have fallen over.

He instructed me, “Lire, use Trinity’s knowledge to stabilize your temperature, like you did when you put out the fire.”

I tried to think, tried to remember, but my thoughts churned slowly and my mind felt numb.  “I’m suh-so cuh-cold.”

Quickly Jason pulled me into his lap and hugged me fiercely.  “Lire!  Come on.  Think.  You can do it.”

Trinity leaned down and whispered something into Jason’s ear, but I ignored them.  All I wanted to do was sleep.  I couldn’t think straight, and doing anything but fall sleep was too much work.  A nap sounded good.

Jason’s warm cheek on the side of my neck startled me awake.  “Lire.  Come back to me.  Please.”

I felt a fluttering in my stomach as Jason used his power to lift me up and dangle my body just above the ground.  He turned me around to face him and rubbed my arms roughly.  “You can do it.”

My mind opened, and I thought about Trinity.  Her magic was akin to Patty’s, but foreign to my own.  I concentrated on her memories and, since I didn’t have any negative recollections associated with her magic, I easily recalled the process.  I pulled energy from my surroundings in order to balance the temperature in my body, being careful not to cause damage to the areas from where I acquired the energy.  Since we were in the middle of an ice rink, I searched the air high up and away from the ice and succeeded in gathering enough energy to pull into my body.  I knew that I could have taken the energy from Jason or Trinity.  Such a small depletion wouldn’t have adversely affected them, but it was simply wrong to take energy from a living being without their permission.  Trinity’s moral fortitude was refreshing, given what I had experienced of late.  The entire experience was quite exhilarating.

I heard Jason whisper in my ear, “Atta girl,” before my dream faded into darkness.

The first thing that came back to me was the sound.  At first, it was muffled and indistinct, but after several moments of floating in the dark, I heard Vince’s voice.

“…ank God!  Her color is getting better.”

I felt myself being jostled around and my face must have shown signs of consciousness because he called to me, “Lire.  Lire.  Come on.  Wake up now, Lire.”

I moaned and turned my head to the side, hoping to shield my eyes from the incessant brightness that was seeping through my closed lids.

“Lire!  Say something.  Are you awake?”  Vince’s voice was loud and insistent.

“Turn the light off, would you?”  My lips were numb, so I sounded drunk.

I opened my eyes, blinked furiously, and saw a blurry version of Vince leaning over me.  As my vision cleared, I realized that we were still at the murder scene, but I was lying on an ambulance gurney.  Several figures were moving around us, silhouetted against the brightness, and an EMT was trying to secure me to the bed with a strap over my thighs.  I noticed Jensen and Cunningham standing with Tormino a few yards away.  They were watching me with concerned expressions.

“God dammit, Lire.  What the hell were you thinking?”  Vince's expression was severe.

“I wasn’t as usual.”

He made a sound of complete exasperation.  “Jesus!  You scared the hell out of us.  You fucking turned blue!  You know that?  Frost came out of your mouth and you turned blue for Christ’s sake!”

Vince savagely ran his fingers through his hair, and I suddenly felt really awful for having put him through another ordeal.  I was so obsessed with the murderer that I barreled ahead without considering the consequences.

I struggled out of the blanket cocoon to have more of a discussion with Vince, which interfered with the strapping that the attendant was now trying to secure at my waist.  It was fine with me because I had no intention of going to the hospital again.  I looked severely at the medic and told him to take five.  At first, I thought he was going to give me an argument, but my expression said back off loud and clear.  The paramedic stepped back, probably hoping to avoid an argument, although, I noticed that he didn’t go far.

Now that I was sitting up part way and leaning on my elbows, I turned to regard Vince.  Absently, I noticed that someone had taken the time to put the glove back on my left hand.

“Vince, I’m sorry.  I didn’t think.  I’m really sorry.”  As I said this, my eyes burned with impending tears, but I covered it by moving to sit all the way up and blinking like crazy.  The thought that Vince might not forgive my transgression was more than a little upsetting, and I cursed myself for being so impulsive.  I realized that he meant more to me than I had been willing to admit.

His expression was a combination of ar and relief.  He looked at me intently.  “Please, do us all a favor, don’t do anything like that again.”

“I won’t.  I promise.”

He sighed loudly and shook his head.  “God, you’re high maintenance.”

I kept my voice low.  “Yeah, but I’m worth it.”

The paramedic, who had been joined by his female partner, sensing that our discussion had come to an end, stepped up and told me to lie down again.  Before he could start working on the straps, however, I pushed off the blankets and pulled my legs completely out of the bottom strap.

“Nope, nope, nope.  I appreciate your attention, really.  But I’m fine.  I’m not going to the hospital again.  Thanks, but no thanks.”

The paramedic tried to speak, but Vince overrode him.  “Dammit, Lire!  Your temperature went haywire again.  You need medical attention.”

The people around the crime scene had stopped moving around and were watching us with rapt attention.  Cunningham walked up to voice his concerns, which echoed Vince’s, although, they weren’t nearly so explosive.

I worked myself free of the straps.  “Guys, think about it.  My temperature went haywire as you put it because both Patty and Trinity are energy manipulators.  It was their magic that caused my temperature fluctuations, not some deadly medical condition.”

The male paramedic, who was middle-aged and small of stature, made the mistake of grabbing my arm in an attempt to dissuade me from scooting off of the gurney.  He was wearing gloves, but that wasn’t the main reason I was annoyed.  It really pisses me off when someone ignores my words, and he was taking it a step further by making it physical.

The paramedic was oblivious.  “Miss, please, the gentlemen are right.  Your temperature plunged to a dangerously low level.  Let us take you to Swedish.  If you check out okay in ER, you’ll be free to go in no time.  It’s for your own safety.”

I looked down at his hand disapprovingly, and he let go with obvious reluctance.  At the foot of the gurney, his female counterpart was watching me with a cool eye.

I regarded the male paramedic.  “Look.  I know you mean well, but I know what I’m talking about.  My temperature fluctuation was the result of a psychic discharge.  It was not medically induced.  It will not happen again because I don’t have plans to come into contact with any more magically charged items any time soon.”  I turned towards Agent Cunningham.  “Does tomorrow morning at nine work for you?  I’ve got a lot to talk about.”

He raised an eyebrow.  “You discovered something?”

I felt my eyes slip sideways as the memories threatened to emerge, but I firmly slammed them back into their requisite compartment for later examination.  “I can’t go there right now.  I’m sorry.  I’m a little tired, and I need time to sort things out.”  I purposely avoided saying that I needed ‘time to recover’ because I really didn’t want to argue about going to the hospital again.

Not waiting for permission, I hopped off the gurney.  I picked up my purse and lunch bag from the ground, where I assumed Vince had dropped them, and then said my goodbyes.  Unhindered, I walked toward the parking lot, half expecting the EMT to stop me.  My legs felt extremely wobbly, but I was determined not to show any signs of discomfort or weakness.  I intended to back up my words by making it quite obvious that I was in no need of medical attention.  The people standing around the scene gave me a wide berth, as if I was contaminated with some highly contagious disease.  I had an irreverent impulse to shout, “Boo!” at the next person who stared at me, but I refrained.

Vince had no choice but to follow me after sparing a few words for Cunningham and Jensen.  He caught up with me, just as I reached the edge of the parking lot.

“You are the most infuriating woman I have ever met, you know that?”

I looked behind him, saw that we were unobserved, and leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially.  “I know.”  I resisted the wild desire to kiss his cheek.

He smiled and shook his head.  “You know, if there weren’t three news vans sitting in plain view that way, you’d be in big trouble right now.”

“Yeah?  And what kind of trouble would that be?”  I narrowed my eyes and planted my left hand on my hip.

He propelled me toward the car and grinned.  “The kind that’s not okay for prime time viewing.”

“You wish,” I said, but wondered whether his response implied violence or romance.

In the car, after several stern words from Red and a few more for good measure from Vince, I fell asleep without divulging anything that I learned from Trinity.  Vince was eager to hear what I had to say, but I was more than a little tired, and he let me sleep.  When we arrived at my apartment building, Vince had to shake me roughly to wake me up.  I felt groggy, hungry, and stiff.  There were drool marks on my coat, but, bleary as I was, I hardly cared.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Vince escorted me up to my apartment with his arm around me most of the way.  This time I wasn’t shy about leaning my head on his shoulder in the elevator.  I asked him if he wanted to come inside for some of Julie’s lasagna, and he accepted.

We stepped inside and hung up our coats on the rack.  I gently leaned my handbag against the wall so Red could climb out.  It felt really good to be back home and even better to have some company.  Although, I suspected that the main reason Vince decided to come in was because he wanted to hear the details about Trinity’s death.

Boy, sometimes it’s nice to be wrong.

I turned to walk toward the kitchen when Vince unexpectedly grabbed my left hand and pulled me off-balance into his embrace.  A squeak escaped my mouth and my hands went to his chest to steady myself.  The wheels in my head had to spin for a few moments before I fully realized his intentions.  As he leaned down to kiss me, I slid my hands up his chest, around the back of his neck, and pulled gently to encourage our closeness.  His lips were warm and moist, and all those butterflies that never seemed to leave my stomach caused my breath to catch.  Our initial tentative kiss became deliciously passionate as the seconds ticked by.  When our tongues finally met, the warmth that had begun down low in my body increased to a four-alarm fire almost instantly.  Patty’s magic couldn’t hold a candle to this blaze.  When the kiss finally ended, I leaned the side of my head against his chest and tried recover some semblance of composure.

Careful not to let my bare cheek touch his shirt, I snuggled my head against the swell of his chest, letting my hair act as a barrier.  “Uh…wow.  I seriously need to catch my breath.”

He stroked my head and chuckled.  “Yeah.”  Vince's voice was deep, soft and almost breathless.  “I’m finding that I have that same problem.”

I laughed against his chest.

Oh.  My.  God.  My mind raced with images of Vince’s excellent skin rubbing strategically against mine, but, at the same time, a small voice was also whispering not to take things too fast.  He was a co-worker, remember?  Or, what about the old adage, 'Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?'  Or all the countless advice columnists who always tell their readers to not jump into bed with a guy on the first date?  Vince and I hadn’t even had a first date!  On the other hand, most of those advice columnists weren’t skin-touch deprived individuals.  It was over ten years, since I had last felt the touch of a man’s warm lips plainly against mine.  Let’s face it—kissing through the fabric of a skin suit just doesn’t cut it.

After a moment, I pulled away and looked into his eyes.  Now that some of the heat had dissipated, I took the opportunity to step back slightly from his body.

I tilted my head and regarded him with a small smile.  “Do you realize it’s only been two weeks, since we first met down at your station?  It seems like ages ago, doesn’t it?”

Vince laughed when I told him that I wanted to give his ear a hard flick on more than one occasion, especially when he gave me a hard time about reading the blouse.  He gave me a look that sent a direct message to a very specific location in my body.  “I know.  I was terrible to you.  Please, feel free to take it out on me now.”

I laughed and pulled him toward the family room couch where we both enjoyed another round of heated kissing, but I resolved to not get carried away.  When things began to get a little too intense, I put my bandaged hand on his chest and pulled away with a delighted moan.

Snuggling my face into the side of his neck, I mumbled, “I’m sorry.  It’s been such a long time for me.  This is all happening a little fast.”

“No worries.  I can do slow.”  Vince's quiet, intimate voice gave me a thrill.

I laughed softly into his neck.  “You’re not helping.”

Vince chuckled and said he was sorry, but I observed that he didn't sound terribly apologetic.

I regarded his face.  “I…I just want to make sure this is right, for the both of us.  And I don’t want to screw things up by plunging in without thinking.”  I made a sound of exasperation and looked down so my hair fell across my eyes, masking them.  “Oh!  I don’t know!  My head is saying one thing and my body is saying another!”

Vince laughed his deep, sexy laugh.  “I know what you mean.  It’s okay.  I can do things slow, remember?”

I peered at him from under my long bangs.  His expression denoted something quite to the contrary, and I shivered with pleasure.  “That is definitely going to require some serious willpower.”

Vince just smiled and looked at me intently.

“Again—you’re not helping,” I accused and tossed my head to get the hair out of my face.

Vince stood up while he chuckled and held out his hand to me.  “Come on.  Let’s have some lasagna.”

Per Vince’s orders, I sat at the table and waited while he heated two portions of Julie’s lasagna in the microwave.  I was glad for his help because without the flush of hormones running through my body, I was feeling extremely tired.

“So, um, what about work.  I mean…I don’t know…is this considered bad form?  Should we, you know, keep things quiet?”  I added hastily, “Not that I plan on hanging all over you, or anything.”

“Well, I’d say that making out in front of the guys is probably a bad idea.”  Vince gave me a wry grin and then shook his head.  “Yeah…I think keeping things discrete will be in our best interest, atst until the case is solved.”  He put a plate of steaming lasagna in front of me.  “Anyway, I don’t think it will be much of a surprise to Jensen.”

I looked up from my plate.  “Really?  Why do you say that?”

“Let’s just say that I’ve seen a couple of raised eyebrows.”

“Ah.”  I thought about the likely reaction of most people.  “You know, that’s something you should consider.  Not everybody is going to be happy about us dating.  I'm not saying that Jensen will object.  He's a good guy.  But, other people…people who don't understand my magic.  I’ve had years to become accustomed to the discrimination.  Even now, it can be difficult for me.  For someone who isn’t accustomed to it…well, it can be pretty…shocking.”  I looked at him with a doubtful smile and shrugged.  “It’s something you should think about.”

Vince looked regretful.  “Yeah.  I suppose I leaned that way a bit before I met you.  I never did anything on the conscious level, but I’m sure it was there.  It was the residual effect of my upbringing, I guess.”

I realized, with a start, “Your parents.  They won't like me in the picture, will they?”

He shrugged.  “It doesn't matter what they think.  It wouldn't be the first time they've objected to something I've done, so I’m not going to worry about it.”

Our relationship was just budding, so I didn't comment further, but the potential issue with his parents worried me.  I did my best to put it out of my mind.

As I struggled to eat with my left hand, I asked him what had happened to me after I touched Trinity’s bone.

“If you never touch a bone again, it won’t be too soon.  I thought you were dead.”  He tried to sound casual, but I could tell that he was still upset about it.

Now that we had crossed the threshold of intimacy, I reached out and touched his hand.  “I’m really sorry.”

“I know you are.”  He smiled and gave my hand a squeeze.  After a moment of heartfelt eye searching that got my blood to the boiling point, he broke the moment with a casual shrug and let go of my hand.  “I already gave you the high points, but if you want the blow-by-blow…”  At my nod, he continued, “As far as I could tell, you went down right after touching the bone.  For once, I caught you before you hit the ground.”

“It’s about time.  You’ve had enough practice.”

He snorted.  “I’m going to start wearing a catcher’s mitt around you from now on.”

“I don’t blame you.”  I laughed.  “Okay.  Sorry.  Go on.”

He finished chewing.  “Right away I noticed that you felt really cold.  Unusually cold.  And then frosty air started streaming out of your mouth and it was thick with ice crystals, like it was minus twenty or something.  Freaked the hell out of me.  Anyway, pretty quickly your lips and eyelids turned blue, your fingertips too.  If it weren’t for the frosty breath coming from your mouth, I would have sworn that you were dead.  Believe me—I’ve seen enough dead bodies to know.”  He shrugged.  “That’s about it.  I yelled for the paramedics, Cunningham and Jensen ran back and grabbed the foil blankets, and by the time the medics got you on the gurney, your coloring started coming back.”

I wiped my mouth and pushed my nearly empty plate to the side.  “Things weren’t as bad this time because Trinity’s soul prevented me from getting totally blasted.”

Vince regarded me curiously as he finished the last bit of lasagna on his plate.  After he swallowd, he asked, “If that’s the case, then why didn’t anything like this happen after you touched Jason’s bones?  I mean, you passed out, but you didn’t turn into an ice cube or end up in the hospital.”

I laughed.  “I told you, my temperature issues from the last two readings were because Patty and Trinity were energy manipulators.  And the reason I was so badly affected by Patty's remains is because her soul wasn't bound to her bones, like Trinity's or Jason's.”  I leaned forward and looked at Vince pointedly.  “Anyway, I wondered the same thing about Jason's bone and then I remembered.  Something did happen; it just wasn’t as dramatic as what happened with Patty or Trinity.  At least…I think something happened.  Right after I touched Jason’s bone, I vaguely remember being airborne for a moment.  At the time, I just chalked it up to the power of the warlock’s spell knocking me backward, but I think it was actually some of Jason’s leftover psychic energy.”

He was thoughtful.  “I remember that, now that you mention it.  So, this magic that seems to stay inside the bones…it only affects clairvoyants?  Because I know other people handled Patty’s remains and nothing bad happened to them.”

I mulled that fact over in my mind and considered the dream conversation I had with Jason when I was in the hospital.  Not only did I acquire a part of Jason's soul, for lack of a better description, but I also got pummeled by the magic belonging to each paranormal.  It was important, I knew, but I couldn’t figure out how.

I shifted slightly in my chair.  “Maybe the other people who have come into contact with the bones all were wearing gloves?”

Vince nodded.  “Possible.”

I sighed.  “I just don’t know.  Most clairvoyants know better than to go around touching people’s remains, so there's not a lot of precedence, but it's not as though it's never happened.  Clairvoyants have been around since the beginning of time.  Even if getting blasted by reading another paranormal's remains had only come up a few times, you'd think that it would have been noted and passed down through the generations as one of the major risks.”

Vince shrugged.  “If the FBI's clairvoyant reads the bones and gets zapped, then I suppose we'll have our answer.”

I nodded.  “True.”

“Did your experience with Trinity shed any new light on things?”

I checked my watch.  “Are you sure you don’t want to wait until tomorrow to hear this?  It’s getting pretty late.”  I smiled coyly.  “I mean, you’re welcome to stay here, but I assumed that you needed to go home for a change of clothes.”

“Actually, I have an overnight bag down in my car.”  After a moment, he noticed my deliberately suspicious expression and protested, “Hey!  I didn’t think I’d be staying here necessarily.”

“Uh-huh.”  I folded my arms across my abdomen and looked purposely doubtful.

He laughed.  “I wasn’t sure how up-and-around you were going to be.  I wanted to be prepared, in case you needed some help.”

“Right.”

He smiled boyishly, and I laughed and stopped my teasing.  “Okay, but if we’re going to talk about Trinity, I at least need some coffee.”

His smile disappeared.  He looked at me with concern.  “Is this going to be difficult for you?”  No doubt he was thinking about my vomiting episode from earlier in the day.  Beauty.

“It’s always difficult, but it won't be as bad as dealing with Patty.  No, Trinity was good people. makes things easier.”  I smiled and got up to clear the table.  “I’ll put some coffee on.”

He stood up.  “I’ll get this.  You go ahead and make the coffee.”

The brownie points just kept adding up.  Pretty soon I was going to begin to think that he was too good to be true.  God, how did that happen?  Magi-phobic jerk one week, perfect boyfriend material the next.  Of course, given my recent luck, something was bound to come along and screw things up soon.

Fifteen minutes later, dishes in the dishwasher, leftovers refrigerated, and coffee made, we settled into the cozy chenille couch with our brimming coffee cups and cookies.  Even Pepperidge Farm had jumped onto the psi-free bandwagon.  I relished every bite of two chocolate Milano cookies, which given my recent lack of exercise were surely destined for my hips.  Sadly, if Vince hadn’t been there, I probably would have eaten at least two more.  Damn them.

While we were still sipping, Vince asked where Red had gone.

“He’s either outside or in the office.  He tries to make himself scarce whenever he thinks I need privacy.”  I smothered a coy smile by drinking from my cup.

“Ah.  Outside?  He can open the door by himself?”

“No, not the big door.  When I had the loft renovated, I added a tiny Alice In Wonderland door over there.”  I pointed down next to the patio doors on the other side of the couch.

He leaned over the end of the couch to look where I was pointing.  “Cool.”

I shrugged.  “I do what I can to make his life as comfortable as possible.”

After finishing every drop of my coffee, I placed the empty mug on top of the depleted cookie plate and deposited the stack next to me on the lamp table.  I turned to the side, with my legs folded under me and my arm over the back of the couch, propped my head against my hand, and watched Vince as he finished his coffee.  Almost immediately, my mind took Track Seventeen to Gutter Central.  I had to reign in my thoughts or I knew we’d never get around to talking about Trinity’s memories.  Vince eyed me curiously for a moment, but must have figured out my line of thought because I saw a sly grin emerge from behind his coffee mug.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked.  One eyebrow was raised and his dark eyes peered at me penetratingly from under his brow.  His voice was nonchalant, but his look was pure testosterone.

The expression sent a shock wave of pleasure directly to the region nice girls don’t discuss in public, and my temperature went up by at least five degrees.  It was embarrassing what he was able to do with just one look.

I wagged my finger at him.  “Uh-uh.  Don’t even go there, or we’ll never get around to Trinity.”

He looked at me in shock.  “Go where?  I’m just sitting here calmly drinking my coffee.  Minding my own business.”  He bent forward to put down his empty cup on the coffee table.

“Oh, really.  Well.  My mistake.”  I smugly folded my arms across my chest.  I matched his raised eyebrow with one of my own.

He smirked.  “You know, you never did tell me what you were thinking before we left to meet the FBI.”

“Mmmm.”  I bit my lower lip.  “I thought you were minding your own business over there.”

“You know, helping you stick to this willpower thing is not going to be easy.”

I resisted the urge to move toward him on all fours and run my tongue over his sensuous lips.  Instead, I closed my eyes momentarily and inhaled deply.  “Who said life was easy?  I need a Coke.  Want one?”  I jumped up abruptly.

He chuckled.  “Sure.”

I cleared the coffee cups and returned with two cans of psi-free Diet Coke.  I handed one to Vince, and he thanked me before popping the tab and drinking.  After a few sips, Vince replaced the can with his dog-eared notepad.  He looked every bit the detective, which helped clear the air of hormones.

“Okay, give me a sec.”  I put down my can of soda on the coffee table and then closed my eyes to focus on Trinity’s memories.

I relaxed my shield, and Trinity’s life’s memories flooded to the fore in a steady rush.  I didn’t bother to control them.  It wasn’t possible to keep them locked away forever.  Because Trinity’s stream wasn’t corrupt like Patty’s, I knew I didn’t have too much to worry about.  Of course, every time I took in another person’s memories, there was a small voice in the back of my mind wondering whether my magic and my psyche were up to the job.  How many memories was I capable of storing without going insane?  Was there an upper limit?  Did I have the capacity for more, or would the next memory turn me into a gibbering idiot, destined for a clean-room?  It was a disturbing line of thought, one that I would most likely never know until it was too late, so I did my best to put it out of my mind.

All at once, I remembered a great many new things.  Some of them were distant and near forgotten, others more clear, but little more than snippets, and many more, especially recollections of family and lovers, were as bright as day.  There wasn’t a glut of memories, like what I experienced with Patty, because Trinity’s soul offered some blocking of the stream.  Even so, there were more than enough to cause me distress.  I fought with emotions ranging from apathy to absolute terror.

I remembered…

…the first time I learned to skate and the delight in feeling the ice slip beneath the blades…people I didn’t even know calling me a natural from the time I was four…the neighbor cat going poop in my sandbox and my Mom angrily rubbing his face in it…my powers surfacing at the age of five…overhearing my parents talking about not having any more kids because they were afraid of having another psychic…my amazement at being able to alter the ice to better my skating performance…my first skating coach, who drove me to perfection with her strict but loving demeanor…roller skating with sparklers on the Fourth Of July…my first reciprocated crush in fifth grade…getting my period at thirteen and trying to convince Mom to let me try tampons…my utter despair when the US Figure Skating Association suspended me from competition after becoming aware of my powers…pancake breakfasts on Sunday with Dad…enjoying a life outside of skating practice…my first kiss on the darkened floor of a high school dance…going to the mall with my friends…the college frat party where I met Tom…my first apartment…losing my virginity…working my ass off at Microsoft…my first new car…breaking up with Tom…my abduction and waking up face to face with a demon…the realization that I was going to die…

“I suspect that you’re still with me, Lire.  Not one to turn down a challenge, are you?  Even when presented with a reading that no other clairvoyant with any sense would perform.”  He makes a sound of disapproval and shakes his head.  “It boggles the mind.”  He blows out a dramatic sigh.  “Well, I suppose I should give you some kind of reward for your persistence.”

He folds his arms across his chest and seems to regard me for a moment, thinking.

“You probably want to know why I am doing this.  What is my motive?  I’m sure the police would love to know.  Well, I’ll tell you.  It’s one of the big three.  You know…money, power, love, or some combination thereof.”  He chuckles.  “Hey, that’s pretty catchy.  Okay, let’s see.  Which one is it?  Is it financial gain?  Or love maybe?  Or, what’s the third one again?  Oh yes, power.  Is it perhaps power?  Hmmm.  Let me think.”

He drums his long fingers against his cheek in an overly dramatic gesture of contemplation.  The ring on his finger glints sharply with the movement.  I notice that the ring is a square shaped signet on the middle finger of his left hand.

“Mmmm, yes.  Power.  That fits.  But why power?  Why do I need power?”

He drops his arms and looks at me intently.

“One simple clue will answer that question for you, and it’s a clue that will all too soon be at your back door.  You’ll see.  Continue to help the police and they will come for you, and then maybe you’ll understand.”  He sighs.  “Of course, by then it will be too late, but, hey, don’t say that I didn’t warn you.”

He reaches into a pocket in his dark robe and withdraws something white as he begins to slowly walk toward me.  Upon closer inspection, I see that it is a white handkerchief.  Immediately, I flash back on the memory of my abduction.  I panic and begin to struggle against my bonds as I scream for help, but I know despairingly that it is futile.  I am effectively staked down.  The cloth nears my face and I throw my head about violently to keep it from covering my nose and mouth.  Once again, I try to call my power to no avail.  His hand moves almost as quickly as I can fling my head about, and it gets in close enough that I begin to feel a little bit woozy.  The cloth presses down over my mouth and nose.  I try not to breathe while I stick my tongue against the hankie in an effort to dislodge it.  My taste buds vaguely register a slightly sweet, chemical taste.  After a few more seconds, everything seems to slow down and my eyes droop downward, even though I fight against it.  I relax involuntarily, and the world goes dark.

I looked at Vince with wild eyes before diving into his arms for comfort.  “No more.  No more bones.”  My voice sounded weak and tremulous.  I overruled my threatening tears with slow, steady breaths.

Vince rubbed my back while I took several minutes to decompress and gather my thoughts.  I inhaled deeply, my head nestled in the crook of his neck, and enjoyed the scent of his body.  Under the fragrance of what I guessed was his deodorant or aftershave, he smelled warm, pleasantly musky, and slightly of sweat.  It was a purely masculine scent, uniquely Vince, and it made me feel positively warm and tingly inside.

“Who is this mysterious ‘they’ he keeps blabbing about?” Vince wondered after I calmed down enough to tell him what the murderer said to Trinity.

I shook my head.  “I don’t know.  Presumably someone or a group of individuals are out to get him, but he also claimed that they don’t want him to be caught by the authorities.  So they must want him for some other reason, not just because he’s murdering people.”  I rolled my eyes.  “As if that’s not enough of a reason.  But why?  Why don’t ‘they’ want the police to catch him?”

I mumbled the question mostly to myself, but Vince answered, “He must have information that this group doesn’t want made public.”

I nodded.  “Yeah, that could be.  Or it could be that he has a major paranoia complex.  Anyone that can take out four innocent people without remorse and work with a demon has got to have some sort of screw loose.”

Vince grunted.  “I’m not so sure.  He also implied that this ‘they’, whoever ‘they’ are, will go out of their way to stop you.  You specifically.  Not the police necessarily, but you.  I find that interesting.  And disturbing.”

“Yeah.  But look on the bright side.  At least he’s not the one threatening me.”

“He also implied that they are worse than he is.”

I glared at him accusingly.  “You’re a glass-half-empty kind of person, aren’t you?”

“Only when it’s alcohol, babe.”

I rolled my eyes and hauled myself to my feet.  “God, I’m tired.  I definitely need to pull a Rip Van Winkle.  Or is it Wrinkle?”  I shook my head.  “Whatever.  I need some sleep.”

I went to the patio to check for Red.  “Red?  You out here?”

“Yes, Lire.”

“Didn’t mean to drive you outside.  You okay?”

“I’m quite content.  Thank you.  I was looking at the stars.  We actually have a slightly clear night tonight and no moon.”

I looked up at the sky.  “Huh.  Wow, no clouds?  That doesn’t happen often this time of year.”

I paused and then looked in the direction of his voice, but it wasn’t easy to see him.  His small, black form didn’t offer much contrast against the darkness.  I could see the vague outline of his body perched on one of the wooden benches near the left side of the large balcony.  A slight breeze swirled around the patio, and I shivered from the cold.

“Okay then.  Vince is staying over again tonight, since we both have to go to the FBI office in the morning.”

“Thank you for telling me.  And, Lire?"  He added quietly, "I’m very glad for you.”

I knew he was referring to my romantic entanglement with Vince.  “Me too.  Good night, Red.”

“Good night.  Sleep well.”

When I turned back inside, Vince was coming out of the kitchen, and my stomach went into instant free fall as soon as I saw him.  Holy crap, he was sexy.  I smiled as I walked toward him and tried not to feel self-conscious, but I wasn’t up to the job.

“Are you sure it’s okay to stay over?”  He placed both his hands on my upper arms and rubbed them softly.

I met his eyes and smiled wryly.  “It’s a bit of a temptation, but I think I can handle it.”  I groaned uneasily and then lightly bumped the top of my head into his chest.  “God, I hate this awkward stage.”

He laughed softly and smoothed the hair at the back of my head with one of his hands.  “I know where the blankets are.  Go on up.  I bet you’re tired.”

He pulled me closer and kissed me gently, but it wasn’t long before we were going at it full tilt and our bodies were moving against each other by their own accord.  Somehow I managed to pull away and rest my head against his chest again.

“Oh, man,” I moaned.

Vince chuckled, and I heard it as well as felt it rumble through his chest.  “I know.  Maybe it’s not such a good idea that I stay over.”

As if to prove his point, his hands pressed a flaming path along the curve of my back, over my posterior and then back up again.  I gasped with pleasure.

“No.  No.  It’s okay, at least for tonight,” I panted and stepped backward.  I could hold it together for one night, I assured myself.  It helped that I was dog-tired.

Vince laughed.  “Okay.  I’ll be right back.  I have to go down and get my bag from the car.”

“Okay.  You remember the pass code?”

He repeated it.

“Yes you do.  Here…”  I walked to the front door and my handbag.  “Take my keys.  I’m sorry, but I really need to go up.  I’m wiped out.  Don’t forget to lock up when you get back.”

He told me to sleep well and then wiggled his eyebrows up and down at me.  I laughed and was still smiling by the time I got all the way up the stairs to my room.

Sleep came upon me quickly even though I kept thinking about Vince and his warm, firm body.  I must have been more tired than I thought.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I woke up feeling happier than I had in years, and it didn't take long to remember why.  The previous evening’s more heated memories occupied my thoughts for a couple of drowsy minutes.  I opened my eyes fully and looked toward the door of my bedroom.  My nose told me that coffee was already brewed, and if I listened very carefully, I was able to hear Vince and Red talking downstairs.  Butterflies played happily in my belly as I thought about the turn of events that resulted in possibly attaining a new…boyfriend.  Wow.  Vince.  Boyfriend.  A huge grin of satisfaction gave my lips a workout.

I arched my back into a long sinuous stretch that contracted my muscles all the way down to my toes.  For the first time in years, I woke up feeling perfectly fulfilled and content and that things were totally right.  My life was as close to normal as it had ever been, and it felt amazing!

And then I remembered the murderer’s ominous messages.  Talk about an instant downer.

My bedside clock said 7:25.  If I wanted get down to the FBI’s office by 9:00, like I promised, I needed to get into the shower right away.  Since my bandaged hand required the plastic bag treatment, things were likely to take a little longer.  Under normal circumstances, I needed at least an hour to get ready.  Maximizing my steam shower time eased me into the daytime routine almost as well as my morning cup of coffee.  I was definitely not a morning person, so I needed all the help I could get.  Besides, I wasn’t ready to let Vince see my morning face, which was completely ridiculous since he had already seen me look like death warmed over.  I shook my head in disgust.  I was definitely on vanity’s payroll.

When I was almost finished getting ready, a light knock came at the bathroom door.  I opened it to find Vince on the other side with his devious smile.

“Hi there.  I came up to wake you.  I guess you already did that, huh?”

“Figured that out, did you?  You must be a detective.”

He laughed.  “Yeah.  I’m pretty handy too.”  He looked down at my belted silk robe.  “Hey, uh, you need any help getting that knot untied?”

I just laughed and shooed him back toward the stairs, but the encounter tantalized my thoughts and I hurried to finish getting ready.

After his own turn in the shower, Vince left for the FBI office while I was still cleaning up from breakfast.  It probably wouldn’t be viewed as unusual for us to arrive together, as if Vince had picked me up on his way, but we decided that it was a good idea to promote the illusion that we weren’t overly cozy with each other.  Internally, I rebelled against the need to hide our newly forming relationship, but Vince had to work with many of these people on a regular basis and knew the clubhouse rules.  Si I was transient to the investigation, I decided to go with what he deemed best and trust his judgment.  Besides, it was only a necessary ruse for as long as I was needed on this particular case.  Once my job was done, we were free to act normally.  As if I needed another reason to want the murderer caught.

On my way to turn off the coffee machine, I passed my telephone and noticed the furiously blinking light.  Vince mentioned the messages earlier, but I had neglected to notice just how many were waiting to be played.  The digital number read 23.  I blinked and refocused.  I don’t think I had ever seen it read higher than five or six.  Jeez.  I was torn about taking the time to play them, or to ignore them for a bit longer.  It was already 8:35 and the FBI office was a ten-minute drive.  That didn’t count the time to and from the car and trying to find parking.  I decided to skip the secretary thing.  I’d deal with the messages later.  I wondered absently how many messages my machine could hold before it ran out of room and who all was calling me.  I hoped that they weren’t all from reporters.

With Red in tow, I hurried out of the apartment as I contemplated squeezing in time for a cappuccino from Peabody’s.  I dithered and then finally caved when Red pointed out that the FBI probably didn’t offer psi-free coffee.  Bless his heart.  Guess I was going to be a tad late.

It seemed that 8:48 on a Saturday morning was a popular time for Peabody’s because the only parking to be had was two blocks away.  I resented every extra second it took for me to reach Julie’s shop.  As I walked, I silently cursed all the caffeine-addicted patrons all to Hell.  Myself excluded, of course.

Maybe that’s why I was slow to notice the car.

I heard the roaring engine and turned just as the car came charging up the curb.  My eyes clicked to their maximum aperture as I simultaneously drew in a shrieking breath and pushed out my hands in front of me in a ridiculous gesture to ward off the blow.  It’s not every day that a speeding hulk of metal comes barreling toward me, but I knew intuitively that there was no hope of getting out of the way.  I wasn’t close to being fast enough.  Everything slowed down, and it felt like I had minutes to consider how much this was going to hurt and what the hell this person was doing driving on the sidewalk.  Fleetingly I wondered whether it was possible to jump or throw myself onto the hood.  Maybe I could roll off without it hurting too much.  Just as the hood ornament was in touching distance, a really strange sensation came over me.  You know the feeling you get when you’re just about to go over the first big precipice of a really scary roller coaster?  That sort of fluttery, excited, scared shitless feeling?  Well, that’s the best way I can describe how I felt, just before the car was about to hit.

And then suddenly I was in the air, twirling, instinctively trying to stand, my toes flirting with the metal surface.  One second I was on the hood, the next second on the roof.  Turning around, not quite falling and then finally losing my balance, rolling off of the trunk and landing in a heap on the sidewalk.

Relatively, miraculously, unscathed.

I looked up the sidewalk to see the car careen away, bounce back down the curb, narrowly miss two newspaper dispensers and a parked car, speed pell-mell down the wrong side of the street and then screech around the corner.  By the time I gained enough of my senses to look for the license plate, the car was turning the corner and the plate was out of my view.

I had a moment to assess my body for signs of injury before pedestrians from every direction rushed over shouting in excitement and asking me whether I was okay, although, norprisingly, most people kept their distance.  As far as I could tell, I just had a scrape on my left elbow.  I must have fallen onto my left side because my bandaged right hand wasn’t sore in the least and the white wrappings were intact.

An ambulance was on the scene in a surprisingly short time, about when I felt well enough to stand up and test my legs.  My entire body was shaking badly, so one of the paramedics sat me down just inside the open door of the ambulance.  He checked me for injuries while explaining that I was in shock and then covered me with a thermal blanket.  His partner proceeded to clean my scraped elbow.

I don’t know about shock.  All I know is that everything felt really fuzzy, almost surreal, but I was sure that it was nothing a really big espresso couldn’t cure.  Besides, I decided that I couldn’t be that far gone because my revved up libido definitely noticed that both paramedics were really cute.

While the tall Latino EMT patched up my scrape, I noticed a grey-haired patrolman, with a paunch belly and clipboard, hovering nearby.  He introduced himself and wanted to ask me some questions about the accident.  Before I could say a word, Julie appeared at my side shouting my name in dismay.  I assured her that I was fine, cast an apologetic look at the officer, and let her gush about how she had no idea all the hoopla was centered on me or she’d have been out sooner.  The accident happened at the beginning of Peabody’s block, but with the flock of customers waiting to order coffee, it wasn’t possible for her or Steven to take the time to gawk.  She told me that it was only after Steven stepped outside, some ten minutes later, that he noticed it was me.

After articulating her alarm, Julie took notice of the policeman standing across from me and apologized for interrupting.  I decided that it was probably a good thing to make her feel useful, so I asked her to telephone Vince’s cell and tell him that I was going to be late for our appointment with the FBI.  I also had enough sense to beg a double cappuccino as I dug in my purse for Vince’s business card.  She hurried back to the shop twittering with purpose.

When I turned my attention back to the officer, I noticed that he was looking at me sharply.  “You’re the one helping with the Circle Murders, aren’t you?”

“Uh, yeah, I am.”

“Thought so.  Did I hear you say that you had an appointment this morning with the Feds?  They getting involved, huh?”

“Yeah.  I was supposed to be at their office at nine.  I wanted to get a quick cappuccino at Peabody’s before heading that way.”  I shrugged as if to say 'what a mess this turned out to be'.

“Uh-huh.  Well then, let’s get moving on this, so you can go.  May I have your full name?  Please.”  He held his pen at attention above the clipboard and glanced at me over the top of it with a questioning look.

“Lire Devon.  Lire is spelled L-I-R-E.  Devon.  D-E-V as in Victor, O-N as in Nancy.”

He jotted it down.  He asked my address and telephone number and I gave it to him.

“Now.  Can you tell me what happened, Ms. Devon?”

“Well, I was crossing the street, just there.”  I motioned around the ambulance at the intersection where I crossed between blocks.  “I had gone maybe ten or fifteen feet when I heard the roar of a car engine.  Now that I think about it, I might have heard some people yelling, but it didn’t register at the time.  I didn’t turn around until I heard the car engine right behind me.  I don’t really know how I managed to avoid getting clobbered.  I mean, one minute I was standing right in the way, and thet I was up on top of the roof.”  I shook my head.  “I guess I must have jumped up at the last minute.”

His eyebrows were raised in surprise.  “You sure the car didn’t hit your legs and flip you up there?”  He looked behind me at the paramedics and then back down at me.

I rubbed the tops of my legs.  “No.  No bumps or bruises.  I’m pretty sure I’d be able to tell if the car actually hit me.”

“Yeah, I imagine you would at that,” he agreed with a small smile.  “Did you happen to get a look at the driver at all?  I know you were concerned with other things, but I have to ask.”

“I understand.  No.  Sorry.  I was mostly fixated on the front end of the car as you can imagine.  I didn’t get a look at anything else.”

“What can you tell me about the car?”

I thought back to the incident.  “Uh, I want to say that it was yellow.  A light-yellow, or cream color.  I remember the front of the car had a large chrome grille and a rectangular hood ornament.  I think it might have been an American car.  I remember it being sort of rectangular looking.  Maybe mid-nineties vintage.  I don’t know.  I’m afraid that’s the best I can do.  By the time I thought about getting the license plate number, the car was going around the corner.”

He nodded.  “That’s okay.  We’re pretty sure the vehicle was abandoned a few blocks away.  I just wanted to check it out with you to be sure.”  He paused and gave me a half nod.  “It was a light yellow Chrysler, by the way.  Your memory didn’t play you false.”

I smiled dimly.  “So, uh, it was a car jacking or joyride or something?”

“Probably.  The car was reported stolen, late last night.”  He nodded toward me.  “Glad you’re okay.  Luck was definitely on your side, this morning.  Here's my card.  If you think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to call.”

I nodded emphatically and then took the card and thanked him, just as Julie returned with my cappuccino.  Before taking the cup, I stood up and removed the foil blankets that were draped around my shoulders and slipped the policeman’s card into my purse.  The major trembling had subsided, although I still felt pretty shaky.  I held the cup with my left hand, but had to brace it with my bandaged one to take a sip without spilling.  Aaaah.  Heaven.

“You sure we can’t persuade you to let us take you in?” the swarthy, young paramedic asked one last time.

“Nah.  I’m fine.  Just a scrape, remember?” I returned his smile and noticed again about how cute he was.  Very nice dimples.  Awesome smile.  Not as attractive as Vince, but it almost made having my bloody elbow cleaned and bandaged a pleasure.  He was also considerably less pushy than the last paramedic that tried to persuade me to go to emergency.

Inwardly, I rolled my eyes.  How pathetic.  At the rate I was going, pretty soon I’d be familiar with the relative merits of all the paramedics in the major metropolitan area.

I thanked them for their treatment and Julie walked with me slowly back toward her shop.  On the way, she grilled me for all the details of my accident.  After she had heard everything forward and back, she mentioned the telephone call to Vince.

“I called Vince, like you asked, although why you wanted to go out of your way to be courteous is beyond me.”

Oops.  I hadn’t told Julie about the change in our relationship.  As far as she knew, I was only being nice to him so that I could continue to work on the case and find out who was responsible for Nicks death.

She continued, sounding puzzled and slightly miffed, “He sounded really concerned though when I told him the reason you were running late.  He practically bit my head off.  Said he was coming right over.”

“Didn’t you tell him that I was all right?”

“Yeah.  I think I did.”  She sounded unsure.  Great.

“Jeez, Julie.  No wonder he was upset.  I hope he doesn’t get in an accident trying to get here.”  I looked up and down the length of the street, expecting him at any moment to come screeching up.  “Uh, I haven’t had a chance to tell you…um, things have sort of changed about Vince.”  I looked back at her and couldn’t suppress a shy, satisfied smile from taking over my face.

Julie regarded me with surprise.  “What’s this?  O-M-G!  You’re kidding?”

I shook my head and regarded her with a pleased, yet slightly embarrassed expression.

“Lire, are you sure about this?”  She looked at me with concern until she registered my expression.  “Well.  Okay.  But he better be good to you, or I’m going to have something to say about it.”  She jumped up and down like a schoolgirl.  “Oh my God!”  After a moment of mutual twittering and delighted giggles, Julie lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level.  “He is so hot!  You deserve it, girlfriend.”

As we were standing out front of her shop, talking giddily, Vince came jogging up the sidewalk from the same direction where the accident took place.  I heard the running footfalls and turned to see his concerned expression.  My heart skipped a beat when I saw his muscular form moving toward me.  When he got to us, Vince was breathing hard.  Julie excused herself hurriedly, giving me back Vince’s business card and squeezing my arm as a way of goodbye.

Vince cupped my chin with one of his hands and grabbed my shoulder gently with the other.  “Lire.  Are you okay?  What happened?  Julie told me that you were hit by a car.  I saw the ambulance.”  His face was filled with apprehension and he looked me up and down to check that I was okay.

Suddenly, I was overwhelmed by gushy, warm, romantic feelings for this man—this gorgeous, sweet, utterly kissable man—who ran God knows how many blocks to make sure that I wasn’t hurt.  It took all of my willpower to not wrap myself around him like a koala and kiss him senseless.

I looked into his eyes and beamed affectionately.  “I’m sorry Julie worried you.  Yes, I’m fine.  Just a scrape.”

Once Vince was satisfied that I wasn’t horribly injured, he released his tender hold, but didn’t take a step back.  He continued to look at me with a concerned expression. I lifted my arm carefully, the same one holding the paper coffee cup, so he could see the evidence of my injury.  “See?”

“What the hell happened?”

“Someone taking a joyride across the sidewalk almost turned me into a pancake.”  I gulped my now lukewarm cappuccino.

“What?  Where?  You were stopping for coffee?”

“Yeah.  I had to park way down the street and walk up about two blocks.  The car drove up onto the sidewalk back there, at the corner.”  I pointed in the direction of the now departing ambulance.  “They said that the car was found a few blocks away, abandoned.”  I shook my head.  “I still don’t know how I avoided getting hit.”

“What do you mean?”

I sighed.  “Somehow I ended up practically standing on the roof of the car.  I must have jumped, but I don’t remember doing it.  Itr s weird.”  I shook myself.  “I even managed to hold onto my purse.”

I threw my empty cup in the trash so I could open my purse and look in on Red.  “Some excitement, huh, Red?”

“Yes.  I am glad you are okay.  Just hearing it was bad enough.  You must have been terrified.”

“That's an understatement.”  I shook my head with astonishment.  “But it was surreal too.  Everything just sort of slowed down to a stop, just before the car was going to hit.  And then I got this peculiar feeling…I dunno.  It was strange.”  I smiled and shrugged.  “We’ll talk later, ‘kay?”

I slipped the business card into my purse before closing it and looked up at Vince.  “So, did you run all the way here, or is your car parked down that way?”

“I ran.  I knew Peabody’s was only a few blocks away.  I figured it would get me here faster.”  He touched my cheek with the back of his hand.  “I’m glad you’re okay.”

I leaned toward him and kissed his lips softly.  He reciprocated in kind while wrapping me inside his arms.  I broke the kiss and then briefly rested the side of my head against his upper chest.  His heart was beating quickly, but whether it was elevated from our kiss or from running, I could only imagine.  After a moment, we pulled apart.  All I could think about was how it wouldn’t be too soon until I had him alone in my apartment again.  I looked into his eyes and was fairly certain that he was thinking the same thing.

“Come on.  We can drive over in your car.  They’ll be happy to hear that you’re okay.  Agent Cunningham is quite anxious to hear what you have to say.”

I bet.  After hearing that a car hit me, he was probably worried as hell that he’d have to start from square one with a new clairvoyant.

Since it was Saturday, the FBI building was officially closed to the public, but following a quick call from Vince, Cunningham came downstairs and escorted us inside.  In contrast to the sparsely lit, deserted lobby, it was a relief to find our third floor destination bright and surprisingly busy.  I wondered whether most of the agents had much of a home life.  It occurred to me that Vince must work some pretty long hours too, although, maybe it was only when there was a really pressing case.  I’d have to ask him about it.  Of course, we probably weren’t going to have a terribly traditional relationship anyway, since we lived almost an hour drive away from each other—and that was without traffic.

The three of us walked through a maze of gold fabric covered cubicles toward the back of the building, where several hard walled offices were located.  The carpets were industrial grey, the walls stark white.  The premises looked like any other company that I’d had occasion to visit, except for the majority of employees wearing business attire.  This being the Pacific Northwest (the home of grunge, remember?), many office workers dressed casually—especially those in the software industry.  Apparently that relaxed attitude didn’t extend to the FBI, even on a Saturday morning.

Agent Cunningham opened one of the closed wood doors to reveal a large conference room dominated by an impressive oval mahogany table that probably sat at least twenty.  Sitting at the forward half of the table was Jensen and two other gentlemen who I didn't recognize.  They each had a white coffee mug and some kind of notebook in front of them.  Cunningham invited me inside as he proceeded to the position immediately adjacent to the head of the table.

“Come on in.  We don't have any psi-free coffee to offer you, but I dug up some bottled water.” Cunningham motioned to an empty seat, next to his s.

Clearly, this was where I was supposed to sit, with Cunningham to my right and Jensen to my left, at the head of the table.  A small laptop was open in front of Cunningham's place, trailing black cables that snaked across the center of the table to connect with a device placed on a small black tripod down at the other end.  Another stand in the center of the table appeared to be a microphone.

I nervously sat down where Cunningham directed.

As I settled in my chair, Jensen said, “Lire, what happened?  Vanelli said you were in some kind of accident.  He went zipping out of here pretty quick when he got the news.  You okay?”

“Barely.”  I shook my head in disgust.  “Those Saturday drivers.  They just don’t know how to drive on the sidewalk.”

They all laughed, a short concert of guffaws and chuckles, and then Cunningham immediately questioned me about the accident.  My story seemed far too short and concise, especially since the accident nearly rearranged some fairly important body parts, but I resisted the temptation to embellish.  I didn’t want to come off like a drama queen.  My hands were still shaking slightly, so I kept them clasped together in my lap.  When I made the off-handed comment of being at the wrong place at the wrong time, I noticed that Cunningham shot Vince a meaningful look.  It gave me the impression that Agent Cunningham didn’t buy into the coincidence.  To be honest, until that moment, I hadn’t considered anything else.  Now that the possibility of foul play had been set loose in my mind, it nagged at the outer edges of my thoughts like a terrier worrying the fringe on a rug.

The boys, being detectives and all, peppered me with questions that extracted a few more details that I left out, in my attempt to keep the story concise.  After their curiosity had been sated, they all wished me well, the most notable exception being the man sitting next to Cunningham, who had not involved himself in the discussion and continued to regard me with a reserved expression.

Finally, Cunningham got around to introductions.  The silent man sitting to his right, who I had already noticed was wearing a Coventry County Sheriff uniform, was Sheriff Bruce Lancer, and the term good ‘ol boy seemed an understatement as far as he was concerned.  He was middle aged and stout, with slicked back, auburn hair, a substantial mustache, and penetrating, closely set grey eyes.  I fully expected to hear a twang in his voice, but he was surprisingly soft spoken.  Even so, I got the distinct impression that Sheriff Lancer could be a hard-ass whenever it suited him.

The other man, who was sitting further down the table next to the Sheriff, was Agent Cheung, an extremely thin man of Asian decent, although, calling him a man pushed the limits of the definition.  He hardly looked old enough to drive without a learner’s permit.  The fit of his navy blue suit was comical and only served to further accentuate his youthful (and skinny) appearance.  It looked as if he was playing daddy dress-up.  His voice was pitched deeper than I expected, but still remained firmly in the tenor section of the choir.  I’ll give him credit though, he may have looked young and inexperienced, but he conducted himself with the professional aplomb worthy of an agent.

You know what they say:  Never judge a book by its cover.  I was betting there was more to these two men than what I inferred by their appearance.

Agent Cunningham made a comment about getting started, and my stomach fluttered nervously.  I knew that the tripod at the other end of the table held a camera and Cunningham's computer was digitally recording the whole session.

“Ms. Devon, I’m sure we all have our owuestions that we’d like to ask you, but I thought we’d start by having you tell us what you learned from the remains, yesterday.  Detective Vanelli explained that your unconscious episode at the crime scene was the result of coming into contact with one of the victim’s bones.  Is that true?”

“Yes.”  I tried not to squirm under Cunningham's intense gaze, but it was a challenge.  I refused to feel sorry about my action, other than for the stress I caused Vince.

“And you did this in order to obtain a reading?”

“Yes.”

He made a slow twirling gesture with his hand that signaled that it was time to elaborate.  “Will you please provide us with as much detail as possible regarding the remains?  Gentlemen, please feel free to ask questions if you need clarification on something.”

“Okay.  Uh, well, first of all, the victim’s name is Trinity Wilson.  She was a cryokinetic.  She lived in Seattle, but her family is from Monroe.  She was twenty-three years old, worked at Microsoft.  And she too was involved in Nick’s study, just like the other victims I’ve read.”

Sheriff Lancer spoke up.  “Ms. Devon, I’d like to spend a moment discussing this study.  How did Trinity come to be involved with Mr. Coulter?”

It was odd hearing Nick referred to as ‘Mr. Coulter’, and I felt a tug on my heart at the mention of his name.

I searched my memory.  “Trinity was initially contacted by her doctor.  As I’m sure you know, Coventry Hospital specializes in treating the common and not so common ills of psychics and magic users, in addition to individuals who have been injured by magical means.  They have one of the best psi-wards in the country.  Nick’s study was partially funded by the hospital.  Since Trinity’s doctor was on staff there, she knew about it and recommended Trinity for the study.  Her doctor’s name is Jane Brier.”

“What about the other victims, uh, Jason…” he consulted his notes, “Warner and Patty Schaeffer.”

“The same was true for Jason, but not Patty.  Patty came into the study because she answered an advertisement in the paper.  Uh, Jason’s doctor was Patrick Neidelmeyer.”

I pushed some errant strands of hair behind my ear.  Movement in the air from the overhead heating and cooling vent was causing them to brush against my face.  There were times when the floating wisps made me feel sexy, womanly somehow, but now wasn’t one of those times.  Right now they were tickling the sides of my face and it was just plain annoying.

Lancer nodded and made notes in the pages of his leather bound notebook.  “What was Trinity’s understanding of the study?”

“Well, she knew that they were studying her brainwaves and physical responses when she used her magic.  But that's about all.  It was her understanding that they were withholding the exact specifics, in order to avoid tainting the data.  The same was true for Jason and Patty.  They were all told that, at the end of the study, they would be contacted with the details and results of the study.”

I wanted to ask the Sheriff whether he had already spoken with Nick’s partner in the study, Dr. Ford, but resisted.  My business didn’t lie on that path, and I had a feeling the Sheriff would be more than willing to point that out.  Although Sheriff Lancer was being quite professional in his questioning, something told me that he wasn’t too thrilled with me.  I assumed that it was because of my gift, but I was only partially right.

“Ms. Devon, did you know that you are the sole beneficiary to Nick Coulter’s estate?”

I blinked at the sudden change of subject and stared at him with a shocked expression for several moments.  My forehead knitted down to a frown as unwelcome tears flooded my eyes, and I glanced quickly at Vince.  Vince looked just as surprised as I did.

“No.  No, I didn’t.”  My sorrow tainted every word.

“He was estranged from his family, was he not?”

“Yes.”  I took a deep breath to regain my composure.

“You knew he had no plans to leave his estate to them.”  He made the statement a question.

“Yes.  Long time ago he told me that he had written them out of his will.  He and I had, at that time, similar problems with family members.”  I amended, “Although, I didn't know he had plans to leave everything to me.  That surprises me.”

The conversation Vince and I shared at my apartment came to mind.  For a fleeting moment, I wondered if Vince had reported the details of our conversation to his superiors, but quickly put it out of my mind.  Even if he had told them, it was before we established any kind of romantic relationship.  At least, that’s what I told myself.

“I see.  So who else did you think he was going to leave everything to?”  The Sheriff was keeping his voice well controlled and sounding reasonable, but his eyes were narrowed slightly and looked less than friendly.  I realized that this line of questioning ended with only one possible destination in mind.

I answered honestly.  “I don’t know.  I guess I just supposed he intended to leave his money to charity—to Coventry Hospital—but we never discussed it.”

“Would you have known if there was someone else in his life that he might have provided for in his will?”

I felt the curiosity play on my face.  One minute I thought he was going to accuse me of something and the next I wasn’t so sure.  “Yeah, I think so, we were good friends.  The last month or so we were both really busy, so we hadn’t talked for a while, but, yeah, if there was someone else in his life that meant that much to him…yeah, I know he would have told me about them.”

“So why did you not suspect that you were named in his will?  I mean, you would have known about anyone else, right?”

I looked at him, bewildered, and then cast my eyes over to Agent Cunningham, who was looking at me with mild curiosity.  I had hoped that Cunningham would quash this ridiculous line of questioning, but he apparently wanted to see where it all netted out.

My eyes narrowed as I grew irritated.  I looked back to the Sheriff.  “I never gave it any thought, Sheriff Lancer.  Nick and I are the same—” I took a steadying mouthful of air and tried not to cry.  My emotions were still running right under the surface where Nick was concerned, and the Sheriff’s inference that I had something to do with his murder upset me greatly.  I continued with a little more calm, trying to keep any disdain from sounding in my voice.  “Nick and I were the same age—thirty.  Dying was not something we really ever talked about.  Our wills were not something we talked about, except for the brief conversation we had about disinheriting his family.  And that was in the context of our screwed up relations with family and not about our estates.”

“I see.  And you’re not the least bit curious as to what he left you?”

I had the distinct feeling that the Sheriff was trying to get a rise out of me, so I didn’t bite back.  I looked at him piteously and shook my head in disgust.  “You obviously haven’t checked my financial records.  I have absolutely no interest in Nickvs money.  Or is that not what you’re trying to imply?”

“Cunningham, what the hell is this?” Jensen demanded.

To my relief, both Jensen and Vince were casting very displeased looks at both Agent Cunningham and Sheriff Lancer.

The Sheriff remained silent, ignoring Jensen and Vince’s disapproving expressions, and continued to look at me accusingly.

I was about to shoot my mouth off when Agent Cunningham interjected, “Agent Cheung?”

The youthful agent answered directly, his hands steepled together on the table.  “She is telling the truth.”

I looked at Agent Cheung, surprise plain on my face, and he returned my gaze with a look of cool confidence.  No wonder.  He was a truthsayer, and it explained a lot.  It explained his youth, for one.  These days, the FBI hire MBAs.  They don’t recruit at the high school level, unless, of course, you happen to have an extremely useful magic ability.  Like truthsaying.  It also explained his confident demeanor, in spite of his geeky, youthful appearance.  The FBI was probably sending him to college in exchange for use of his talent.  Lucky kid.  In the mean time, Agent Cheung was there to tell Cunningham whether I was telling the truth, and it really pissed me off.

I finally glanced across the table at Vince, angry that he didn’t at least warn me about Agent Cheung, but the expression on his face told me at once that he had no idea what was going on.  He looked from Cunningham to Agent Cheung with a demanding look.  Jensen appeared to be just as mystified.

My angry glare centered back on Agent Cunningham, but I spoke with surprising calm.  “You know…I can understand including a truthsayer in order to provide further credibility to my testimony, but to do it in such an underhanded way—to lay a trap and then ask such inflammatory questions—it’s just plain insulting.”

Cunningham sighed.  “I was hoping this would help to get all of us on the same page.”

Cunningham didn’t come all the way out and say it, but I figured that he had arranged this to appease Sheriff Lancer.  The Sheriff strongly suspected that I was responsible for Nick’s death—that much was obvious—and Agent Cunningham had provided him with a means of dispelling (or proving) the theory.

I rolled my eyes upward and huffed.  “You people are so used to dealing with criminals that you forget how to treat others with respect.”  I glared at Sheriff Lancer.  “Okay, get this:  I did not kill Nick.  I did not kill Jason.  I did not kill Patty.  I did not kill Trinity.  In fact, I can safely say that I have never in my life murdered anyone.”  I looked around the room.  “Okay?  Can we move on now?”

Agent Cheung looked at me with considerable amusement.  “She is telling the truth.  That last statement was a little murky, but I think you will find this is because of her acquisition of memories of other individuals who have indeed been guilty of murder.”

Once again, Agent Cheung surprised me.  I had never considered that my other memories might affect the results of a lie detector, or, in this case, a truthsayer.  This realization made me uncomfortable because it suggested that the memories weren’t as tightly confined as I might have hoped.  I thought of Patty and suppressed a shudder.

The Sheriff stared at me all steely eyed and then shifted his attention to Cunningham.  “How do we know that this murkiness doesn’t account for anything?”

Agent Cheung spoke before Cunningham had time to respond.  “It is safe to say that I know my business, Sheriff Lancer.  She is not the murerer.”

Lancer grumbled something about all psychics sticking together and then sat back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest, looking more resolved than ever.  Unfortunately, he seemed to be one of those people who resisted believing in magic, no matter how incontrovertible.  Magic was 'mumbo jumbo', so I must be guilty because I told them things only the murderer could know.  Short of irrefutable hard evidence proving someone else guilty, I was going to remain at the top of Lancer's suspect list.  I realized dismally that trying to gain access to Nick’s remains was going to be next to impossible as long as Sheriff Lancer held the keys.  All I could hope was that after the killer was found, the bones would be released to me for burial.  I might be able to push for them now since I it sounded like I was the executor of Nick’s estate, but I was pretty certain that the Sheriff could easily get a local judge to deny the request, in light of his steadfast belief that I was a suspect.

Agent Cunningham wasted no time in getting my testimony back on track.  I tried to put all thoughts concerning Nick and his soul out of my mind.

“Where and how was the latest victim abducted?” Cunningham asked.

I put myself back into Trinity’s shoes, not without difficulty, and answered directly.  “From the Safeway parking lot.  She had plans to stay with her parents for the weekend, so she made the drive up after traffic had died down.  She left work around eight o’clock.  It was an easy drive.  She stopped at Safeway to pick up some pastries at around nine or nine-fifteen.”

I couldn’t help thinking about her Dad and his partiality to apple turnovers, but I quashed that line of thought before it got me wondering about how her parents must be handling the news of her death.  I was already a wreck.  I didn’t need any further heart-rending emotional land mines.

I continued without pause, “She hit the ATM at the front of the store for forty bucks, picked up some apple turnovers and a latte from the in-store Starbucks, and then headed back to her car around nine-thirty.”  I shrugged.  “Her abduction was a lot like Jason’s.  When she came out of the store, there was a white van parked next to her car.  As she went between her car and the van, the sliding van door opened and she was grabbed from behind.  A cloth was put over her nose and mouth.  I assume it was chloroform.  She blacked out very quickly.”

Jensen, Vince, and Cunningham proceeded to question me about every possible detail, which extracted everything from the weather to the exact time, where she was parked, other cars in the parking lot, people she encountered in the store, how she paid for the groceries, what she was wearing, and on and on and on.  Every time the questions appeared to wind down, I dared to hope that we were nearly finished, but then someone would come up with yet another seemingly trivial inquiry.  It was exhausting.

After about forty-five minutes, Cunningham told me he wanted to hear about Trinity’s final encounter with the murderer.  Once again, I related word-for-word the murderer’s last conversation.  As with Vince the night before, the conversation quickly turned toward speculating about the mysterious 'they'.

Sheriff Lancer, who had surprised me by remaining silent for the past hour, made sure we were all well aware of his disgruntled feelings about this latest turn in the discussion.  He huffed loudly, and when I looked over, he was shaking his head and rolling his eyes.  Finally Agent Cunningham called him on it, but first he clicked something on his computer before turning to the Sheriff.

“Lancer, if you have nothing better to offer than grumbles and eye rolling, then get the hel out.  Otherwise, pipe down and try to do something more constructive than distract the rest of us from the discussion.”

Lancer closed his notebook with a slap and stood up.  “There is no ‘they’.  This is just another ruse to distract us from the crime.  I don’t believe any of this shit.  If you need anything from me, you can damn well ask for it by going through official channels.  I’m done with this.”

I drilled holes into Lancer’s head with my eyes as he stormed toward the door.

“Lancer, just make real sure that you don’t stand in the FBI's way, or the government may take an extreme interest in your department.”  Cunningham was matter-of-fact.  Even so, the implied threat hung in the air, and Sheriff Lancer turned his narrowed eyes toward Cunningham.

“Is that a threat?”

Agent Cunningham looked up and regarded him coolly.  “Not at all.  Just call it professional advice.”

Lancer cast one last dirty look at the rest of us and then slammed the door behind him.

After a moment or two of silence, I piped up, “Well, I guess I better not plan any vacation travel to Coventry County any time soon.”  I was only half-joking.  My stomach was tied up in knots from the confrontation, and I noticed that my hands were shaking badly again.

Cunningham snorted and shook his head.  “I tried to get him to work with us, even got another clairvoyant to confirm the reading of the rock.  But, unfortunately, some people just don’t want to have anything to do with magic, no matter how useful it might be.”

“They don’t see it as useful,” I observed.

He sighed.  “No.  No they don’t.”  He leaned back into his chair.  “Now, myself…well, I’ll take leads wherever I can get them.  I’m not nearly so picky as long as they help me solve the case.”  He drilled his fingers along the edge of the table.  “That reminds me…in light of these two readings, I have to express a certain level of concern regarding Lire’s recent accident.”

“I’d say it was just a coincidence if the driver had been a little old lady or a drunk.  But the car was stolen, which makes it suspicious,” Vince pointed out.

Jensen grunted in agreement.  “Yes…the murderer’s threat that someone would come after her, followed by almost getting plowed by a car.  I’d say that’s definitely a cause for concern.  I have my own doubts about whether this is a new individual or individuals, and not just the murderer trying to scare her off of the case, but either way, it's something that I take seriously.”

Cunningham nodded to Vince and Jensen.  “That was my thinking too.”  He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment, maybe pondering all the recent facts and the likelihood of further problems.  Finally, his expression changed from being contemplative to one of decision.  “Ms. Devon, I’d like you to give us your exact schedule for the next couple of weeks.  I don’t know if this is anything to get worried about, but we should play things safe.”

I nodded as I tried to keep my anxious thoughts from spiraling out of control.  Their conversation scared the hell out of me.  I couldn't help wondering what my life was going to be like, flitting to and fro from my apartment, to work, to grocery shopping, to Sotheby’s…all the while being scared to death that someone was out to get me.

Agent Cunningham was looking at me expectantly.

“You want to know my schedule…right now?” I asked, trying not to sound like a mouse.

“Yes, please.”  His pen was readied.

I sighed nervously and forced my mind on track.  “I usually leave for work around eight thirty in the morning.  Unless I have to meet a client or something, like I did a couple weeks ago when I went up to Chiliquitham.”  I nodded an acknowledgement toward Jensen and Vince.  “Every week or so, sometimes twice a week, I have to go over to Sotheby’s in the morning.  On those days, I don’t usually leave until nine.”  I thought about the location of the accident and I was suddenly awash with panic.  “Oh, and I usually stop at Peabody’s for a coffee, almost every morning.”

“That’s where you were earlier, isn’t it?  Where the car almost hit you?”  Cunningham looked up briefly from his notes to see me nod.  “From now on, I think it would be best to avoid going anywhere that isn’t absolutely necessary.”

Agent Cunningham was too busy writing to notice my apprehension.  I raised a shaking hand to push some stray hairs behind my ear and struggled to keep from considering the possibility that there was a hit man out there, right now, lying in wait for me.

He continued without looking up, “Also, until I say otherwise, please don’t make any appointments with unknown clients.”

My look of terror must have jumped in magnitude because Vince said, “Lire, we just want you to play it safe for a while.  It could very well be nothing, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.  Okay?”

“Yeah.  I get it," I said, trying to sound calm.  “But I need to go out on appointment.  I often get called to perform readings on items from an estate.”

I was scared, but I had to live my life as well.  I had my business to think about.  Besides, it was probably just a car jacking.

I thought for a moment.  “What if someone comes with me?  So far, the murderer has only attacked when his victims have been alone.”

Jensen, Vince, and Cunningham all looked thoughtful.  After a tick, Cunningham replied, “I’d rather you found someone else to go instead, but if that’s not feasible, then check with one of us first.  We can at least do a background check on any new clients.”

I nodded.

We established the rest of my daily schedule, including when I usually went grocery shopping, to yoga class, and whether I had a nightlife—Sunday mornings, not lately, and, pathetically, no.  Agent Cunningham also asked me whether I lived alone or had a boyfriend.  If Agent Cheung hadn’t been in the room, I would have just said that I lived alone with no boyfriend, but he was, so I ended up fumbling around for a response.  I finally just mumbled something about dating someone, but wasn't sure whether he qualified as my boyfriend.  It sounded lame, and Jensen looked at me strangely.  I felt my cheeks grow hot.

To avoid eye contact with Vince and Jensen, I looked at Cunningham and glanced down at his notepad.  He had reduced my life to text on a page.  It was especially depressing because it took less than a small paragraph.  I really needed to get a life.

I opened my water bottle instead and proceeded to defend myself to myself.  How many people can say they’ve helped the FBI solve a murder case?  You have to admit that’s pretty cool, if not a bit creepy, but still pretty big on the coolness scale.  And, wasn’t I almost dating a really foxy guy?  If it weren’t for the run away cars, touching deadly remains, and losing consciousness every five minutes, life would actually be pretty good.

Well, I’d hardly call it boring, anyway.

Agent Cunningham cut short any further self-indulgent ego building when he clicked his computer and asked me to describe Trinity’s last interaction with the murderer.  Again, I recounted the murderer’s behavior and dialog.  Cunningham interrupted twice to ask questions about the murderer’s appearance and whether Trinity was in the same location where she held the rock.

I explained, “Other than her actual kidnapping, everything happened at the same location, in the woods behind Safeway.  Of course, Trinity didn’t know that she was behind Safeway.  She just saw that she was surrounded by trees.”

“Then how do you know it’s the place behind Safeway?” Jensen asked.

I thought about it.  “Well…I guess I don’t know for sure.  It just feels right.  I know that Trinity was sitting inside a magical circle while the murderer was talking to her.  I don’t think the warlock would go through the trouble of setting up the circle and calling Paimon, only to clean everything up and then move Trinity to the Safeway site just to finish the ritual.  It's a lot of work setting up a magic circle.  Not to mention that there are significant risks involved in calling up the demon.  I don't think he'd do that twice, unless he absolutely had to.”

“Did she wake up at all before her experience in the woods?” Vince asked.

I thought back.  “No, she didn’t.”

Vince continued, “And after the warlock was done talking to her, she was chloroformed again and never regained consciousness?”

“That is correct.  She didn’t wake up again.  Her psychic essence ends soon after.”

Agent Cunningham redirected, “So she was grabbed next to her car and then woke up in the woods.  What happened right after she woke up?”

I had hoped to get away with not having to discuss her encounter with the demon, so I was reluctant to continue.  I paused noticeably before answering.  “She woke up near the demon, although, she didn’t know it was the demon at the time.”

Nervously, I rubbed my left hand across my lower jaw.  The memories involving the demon, Paimon, were extremely disturbing.  Although this was my third encounter with its evil presence, I was by no means accustomed to the experience.

“Many demons have the ability to cloak themselves in human form,” I explained.  “Paimon attempted to trick Trinity by appearing to be a fellow prisoner.  At first, she was comforted by his presence.  The prisoner was around her age and really good looking.  He encouraged her to think that they might find a means of escape.  But after a while, she realized that something wasn’t quite right.  The prisoner wanted her to agree to use a chant to call up a demon to help them escape.  The chant required her to renounce her faith in God.  When she refused, he grew angry.”  My voice trembled with emotion, and I had to stop.

Trinity's encounter had hit me harder than the others, and it was difficult not to retreat from the memories.  Although Jason's ordeal was similar, Trinity's emotional state was more fragile.  When the demon ripped apart the human disguise, the effect upon Trinity’s psyche was devastating, and it was excruciating to experience.

I heard Cunningham click a key on his laptop before looking at me.  “I can see that this experience is difficult for you.  If it weren’t so important, I wouldn’t be asking you to talk about it.  Take your time.  Let me know if there’s anything I can do to make you more comfortable.  We can continue when you're ready.”

I nodded my head.  “Thanks.  This is the worst part, but I'll be fine.”

Cunningham's comment wasn't meant to offend me.  I'm sure he was truly concerned about my welfare, but it made feel like a little kid, scared of the monster in the closet.  I straightened my back, took a sip of my water, and then told Cunningham I was ready to continue.

After he switched the video recording back on, I resumed where I left off.  “After Trinity refused to recite the evil chant, the demon ripped away its magic veil to reveal its true form.  The effect on Trinity was devastating.”  I tightened my jaw.  “I will not describe the demon.  Just know that its presence is worse than anything you can possibly imagine.  Even if I tried, there just aren’t enough evil words in human language to describe it.”

I didn't wait for approval from Cunningham.  “After the demon revealed itself, the warlock came out of hiding.  I’m pretty sure he was hiding in the darkness, behind a tree or something, while the demon tried to trick Trinity into renouncing her faith.  When the warlock came out of hiding, he scolded the demon, saying, ‘You’ve had your chance.’  He was very condescending, I guess you could say.”

I needlessly smoothed the hair behind my ear in a nervous gesture.  “The demon was clearly pissed off.  It started spitting and growling at the edge of its circle, but the warlock just stared at it until the demon finally stopped its tantrum.  I'm pretty sure it was a battle of wills.  If the demon had won, it would have been very bad for the warlock."  I shrugged.  "After that, the warlock instructed Trinity to listen carefully to his words.  He said her complete focus was mandatory.  Her continued well-being depended on it.  That’s when the murderer gave her the stone and started talking directly to me.  After the warlock delivered that message, he removed the stone from her hands and then proceeded to deliver the second message.  When the warlock was done delivering both messages, he chloroformed her and that’s it.”

Cunningham leaned forward slightly and regarded me steadily.  “You told Detective Vanelli that the reason you felt so strongly about touching the remains is because the reading from the rock made you think that you might know the warlock.  He said you wanted to see if the bones revealed any further clues to his—or her—identity.  Have you learned anything?  Do you suspect anyone?”

“Sadly, no.  I didn't come up with anything.  Well, other than being sure that it’s a man.”  I threw up my hands in frustration.  “I really don’t know how he learned those incredibly personal facts.  I’ve been wracking my brain about it, but I can't figure it out.”

Jensen asked, “Can you tell us who would have been aware of those facts?”

Some of the warlock’s words came back to me…

…it all started when you asked your mother why she had been naked with Uncle Byron…she never touched you again, did she?…you were packed off to boarding school…how is Red doing?…guilt gift your father gave you…Red talked you out of suicide when you were thirteen…dearest Nick…your first love…your first fuck…how tragic it was when your powers deviated…

My lips pressed into a tight line.  The murderer brought up details that were intensely private.  Until now, I hadn't shared them with more than a few people.  Being forced to explain them to strangers, not to mention having all the specifics recorded for countless others to hear, made me absolutely nuts.

I steeled myself and tried to answer Jensen’s question.  “He mentions things that I’ve discussed with very few people.  I really don’t know how the warlock knows so many extremely personal things.”

Jensen ruffled through his notebook.  “I can see why this would be upsetting, Lire.  But we need to go through these facts and find out who could he known them.  If they are so closely guarded, then it is important to know who might have had a slip of the tongue and to whom they might have talked.  It might help us track down the killer.”

I nodded reluctantly and tried not to look too unhappy.

“He spoke of your mother and how you discovered that she had an affair with your Uncle?  Obviously, this is something that occurred when you were a child—the warlock spoke of you holding your mother’s hand at the park.  I know this happened a while ago, but can you tell me who may have known about this event?” Jensen asked.

I tried to avoid hunching my shoulders forward like a turtle and probably ended up looking like I had a board strapped to my back.  “The warlock was talking about how my mother first discovered my psychic ability.  Because I learned something so sensitive from my mother, it was a deeply unsettling experience—for the both of us.  My mother never really recovered from the shock, and her reaction traumatized me so completely that I didn’t tell anyone about the encounter for many years.  It wasn’t until I met Nick that I finally confided in someone.  Until then, I hadn’t spoken of that day to anyone.”  I paused in thought for a moment and tried to ignore the bead of sweat I felt dripping down my side.  “After that, I’ve told only my best friend Julie and Detective Vanelli.”

Jensen nodded, apparently unmoved by my mention of Vince.  I guessed that he probably thought I had told Vince about my mother after the reading of the rock, and not a blurted comment on the first day of our meeting.

“So, your friend Julie—what is her last name?  How long have you known her?” Agent Cunningham asked.

“Julie Peabody.  She and her husband own Peabody’s Beans.  I started going to their store, around the time Jack and I started ST&C.  The shop is across the street from Sotheby’s, but I’m in there almost every day for my cappuccino fix.  Julie’s around my age and her brother is a pyrokinetic, so that drew us together.  I’ve known her for about eight years, I guess.”

Agent Cunningham nodded and jotted down notes about Julie in his notebook.  I felt bad that Julie was going to get dragged into this, but there was nothing I could do.  Hopefully I’d get a chance to warn her and apologize about it before the FBI showed up in her shop.  Immediately, I realized that it might look suspicious if I called to warn her.  I waffled back and forth about what to do and got so irritated with myself that I came right out and asked Cunningham.

“I’d prefer that you not say anything, please, Ms. Devon.  I think it will be best if we call Mrs. Peabody ourselves.  We’d like you to not discuss the case with anyone who is not officially involved.  If anyone presses you for information, please refer them to either myself or Lieutenant Jensen.  Is that clear?”

“Yes.  I understand.”  I sounded a tad put out.  “I just feel bad about dragging Julie into this.  I don’t want her to think that I’ve implied she’s a blabbermouth.”

Cunningham looked sympathetic.  “We’ll be sure to explain that, so don’t worry.”

I nodded stiffly and hoped that Agent Miller wasn’t the representative that Cunningham chose to send over to speak with Julie.  If the session wasn’t being recorded, I might have said as much.

Jensen continued consulting his notes.  “Okay, next, I believe that the murderer talked about someone named…” he squinted at his notebook for a moment and then continued, “Red, and then something about him being a guilt gift and that he stopped you from committing suicide when you were a teenager."  Jensen looked back at me. presses "Is this the same Red that provided information about the demon at Jason’s crime scene?”

I crossed my legs and surreptitiously rubbed my sweaty palms on the fabric of my jeans.  “Yeah.  Red's not exactly a secret, but I don’t go out of my way to introduce him to everyone I meet either.  He’s a bit unusual.  Detective Vanelli can tell you all about that.  On the day we went out to Jason’s crime scene, I inadvertently introduced them.”  I laughed sheepishly.

Vince rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.  “Yeah.  Damn near crashed my car when I first saw him.”  He shook his head and snorted.

I grinned and bobbed my head contritely.  "Red is very unique and I didn't exactly plan for Detective Vanelli to see him while we were driving down the highway."  The guys looked puzzled, so I explained, “Red is a seventeenth-century necromancer whose soul has been bound to a psi-free black teddy bear.  He was a gift from my Dad and has been my companion since I was five years old."

Agent Cunningham's eyebrows were raised in surprise.  “Uh-huh.  So, not many people know about Red then?”

“Well, I minimize his visibility, but don’t keep him a secret, so I’d say that there are dozens and dozens of people, at least, who have seen him.  Who knows how many people then talked about him to others?  I don’t know.  When I was at Coventry Academy, many of my classmates knew about him.  All my close friends know him and, of course, my coworkers know him too.  But, the thing that almost no one knows is the other detail—the one about him saving my life.  The only people who know that secret are Julie and Nick.  That’s why I was so determined to read Trinity’s bones."  I sighed.  "That fact, out of all the things the warlock said, is so private that I just had to hear the murderer’s voice again.  I figured it was someone I knew from school.”

Jensen's expression was grave.  “Red stopped you from committing suicide?”

I bit my lip nervously.  “Yeah.  One of my closest friends in high school, a boy named Daniel…he was transferred to another school when I was thirteen.  We had been friends since the first grade, and…well, I guess he was my first love.  At the time, he was the only person, besides Red, who I really trusted and connected with.  When he transferred, without any warning at all, it was such a shock that I literally wanted to throw myself off a cliff.  If Red hadn’t been there, I probably would have jumped.”

I remembered that grim day.  It was raining, and my world felt like it was falling apart.  Somehow I ended up at Redridge Canyon with thoughts of ending all of my pain with just one step.  No more worries about psychic powers, no more worries about being alone, no more worries period.

I didn’t actually set out to jump off a cliff.  The chance just sort of presented itself to me.  I realized that Daniel was gone and never coming back.  I started running.  I had no clear destination in mind.  I just needed to run.  I ran with tears blotting my vision and desperation dogging every step.  The cliff happened to fall across my path.  In fact, I almost blindly ran off the edge, but stopped myself just in time.  As I stood there crying, mist in the trees and no ground in sight, I began to think about how lonely I was going to be for the rest of my life and how much pain I had already endured in thirteen short years.  And when I was just about to take that one, final step, Red’s voice permeated the emotional fog that I allowed to overwhelm my judgment.

“No, Lire!  This is not how it is meant to be!  You are here for a reason, just as I died, and my soul was cast about for over three hundred years—for a reason.  You were that reason!  Your father was meant to find me, just as I was meant to be here with you.  We are both on this earth for a purpose, and God did not grant you life, just so you could throw it away.  Lire, we will get through this difficult time.  Please trust me.  You will see.  I am here for you always.  Please, don’t do it.  I love you, Lire.  Please…step back…please.”

I remember turning and staggering away from the precipice.  I fell to my knees and let the rain wash away my tears as Red stroked my cheek.  No one, except Red, knew just how close I came to ending it that day.  Later, the only people who I told were Julie and Nick.  Either someone had been watching me that day, someone I did not see up on the plateau, or one of my dearest friends had betrayed my confidence.  How else could the murderer know this intimate detail?

Cunningham echoed my thoughts.  “Except for Julie Peabody and Nick Coulter, you're certain that no one else knew of this event?  Where did this happen?  Maybe someone saw you.”

I took a shaky breath.  “I was out on the Redridge Plateau—it’s only about a half mile from the school, but not exactly a heavy traffic area, plus it was raining.  I don’t think anyone saw me, although, anything is possible, I suppose.”  I shrugged.  “Believe me, I’ve been thinking about this a lot since yesterday.  Nick was an honorable guy.  He wasn't the type of person who would have told anyone something like that.  I suppose it’s possible that Julie told her husband, but she wouldn't tell anyone else.  I'm sure.”

“Is it possible that another clairvoyant touched you, at some point?  Just like you’ve touched the remains?  Could someone have learned these details that way?” Vince asked.

I looked at him sharply.  It was something I had never considered.  “That wouldn’t be possible without my knowledge.  If someone touches me, I am well aware of it.  Even if I am sleeping or unconscious, my powers are still active.”  I pressed my lips together in thought.  “There are mind readers, they’re called telepaths, but that psychic ability is very rare.”  I considered.  “The boy I told you about earlier, Daniel, he was a telepath.  We often goofed around with our powers when we were kids.  Whenever he tried to read my mind, I was aware of it.”

This was also one of the reasons for our closeness as children.  We knew many intimate details about one another because our inhibitions as children allowed us to read each other without worrying about adult issues.  It was because of this special relationship that I have such a strong psychic shield.  Daniel taught me how to better use my power, and we frequently played shield battles with each other.  The object was to see how long we were able to block the other’s psychic intrusion.  If it weren’t for this unique relationship, I don’t think I’d be on the outside right now.  I’d probably be in a psi-ward.

I looked at Vince and then at Cunningham, who were both regarding me with surprised expressions.  I assumed it was because they were thinking the same thing I was, so I continued, “That’s made me think:  Daniel is another person who was aware of how my mother discovered my magic ability.  When we were kids, Daniel and I frequently tested each other psychically.  He read my mind on more than one occasion.  I'm sure he knows of that memory.  But he wouldn’t have known about my suicide attempt since that happened after he left Coventry Academy.”

Cunningham looked thoughtful.  “Telepath, huh?  Then I suppose he would have also known about Red, right?”  I nodded, and he continued, “Can you tell me Daniel’s last name?  Did you remain in contact with him after he left your school?”

I shook my head.  “No.  I could never get a straight answer about where he went.  It was probably because the adults at the school didn’t feel it was appropriate to discuss a student’s personal matters with another student.  At one point, when I was in college, I tried to track him down.  I didn’t get much further than checking with the Coventry Academy secretary and doing some on-line research, neither of which got me anywhere.”

“What did the school say?” Cunningham asked.

I thought back to my telephone conversation with the secretary at the school.  “Gosh, I don’t remember.  That was years ago.  The secretary just shut me down pretty quick, you know?  I think she told me that she wasn’t allowed to give out that type of information.  I didn’t bother pursuing it with the Dean.”  I remembered Cunningham’s other question.  “Oh, and his last name was Stockard.”

I realized, now that I was personally acquainted with Coventry Academy’s Assistant Dean, I might be able to pursue the information with greater success.  Of course, with a police investigation going on, I should probably leave it alone for the time being.  After the investigation, I could think about trying to make contact with Daniel again.

“What about another clairvoyant touching something you touched?  Could a clairvoyant get these types of memories by touching your used Peabody’s paper cup, let’s say?” Jensen asked.

I opened my eyes wide with surprise.  “Well, maybe…but, most of the time, I don’t take off my gloves when I’m outside my apartment.”  I shrugged and thought about the last time I had touched a disposable cup with my bare hands.  I realized that I might have done it at Sotheby’s last week—the time Vince was with me—but I couldn’t remember for sure.

And then I mentally rolled my eyes.  My hands weren’t the only things that touched a coffee cup.  Duh.

I felt like smacking myself in the head.  “I’m obviously not thinking clearly.  My lips touch the cup.  So it’s definitely a possibility that another clairvoyant could get a reading from my disposable utensils.  Of course, I’d have to be thinking about a particular thing, at the time I’m drinking or eating, for that memory to be imprinted clearly—or at all, since my shield is always in place.”

It was interesting having the tables turned, so to speak.  Until now, it was always other people who were concerned, even terrified, by how I might be able to probe unwanted into their personal lives.  Now I was on the receiving end.  It never really occurred to me that someone else might want to learn my intimate details by touching something that had come into contact with my bare skin.  Honestly, it was a little unnerving.

“What about the items that you read?  Like the rock or the blouse.  You touch those with your bare hands,” Jensen probed further.

“Yes, I do touch those without my gloves, but when I do a reading, I compartmentalize my memories.  My shield is strongly in place, so I don’t leave a psychic imprint on the item.  At the most, if I'm not careful, I might leave a small psychic tail that another clairvoyant could identify as belonging to me.  But, all they would know is that I had read the object and not much more than that.”

After a moment of attention to his notebook, Jensen looked at me thoughtfully and nodded.  “Okay then.  That leaves us with Nick.  So, judging by what the murderer said, you and Nick were romantically involved.  He’s referring to Nick Coulter, is that right?”

I felt my cheeks flush and tears sting my eyes before I firmly told myself to get a grip.  “Yeah.  He was my first real boyfriend—my first adul relationship.  We met in college, but the things the warlock said aren’t exactly earth-shattering secrets.  All of my friends and acquaintances at school were well aware that Nick and I were together.  We dated for over a year.  Anyone who knows anything about touch sensitive individuals is fully aware that finding someone who can block direct skin contact is extremely rare.”  I fought the desire to look at Vince, and continued, keeping my voice matter of fact, “We didn’t run around saying, ‘oh yeah, we had sex last night’, but I think most people could have guessed that we were intimate.”

Jensen snorted and smiled.  “So, maybe he just brought those facts up because he knew they’d upset you.”

I simultaneously shrugged and nodded.

“What about Red?  I’d like to speak with him too.  He lives with you?” Cunningham asked.

“Yes, he does.  But he’s never shared any of my secrets with anyone.”

“Well, that may be your belief, but I’d like to speak with him, just the same.”

I wanted to say no, but couldn’t find a justifiable reason to refuse, other than my concern for Red’s safety.  If I couldn’t trust the FBI to keep their hands off him, then just whom could I trust?

“You want to speak with him right now?” I asked.

Agent Cunningham raised his eyebrows at me.  “Uh, yes, that would be fine.”

I looked at him doubtfully, but brought my purse into my lap and pulled it open.  Everyone’s attention was firmly transfixed on my actions.

I looked into the opening.  “Red?  Agent Cunningham wants to ask you some questions.  Are you up for that?”

Red looked up from his opened magazine, which was illuminated by a tiny book light, and cocked his head at me.  “If that is his wish, then I am at his service.”

I split my gaze between the men around the table.  "Please, don't attempt to get any closer to Red and don't try to touch him.  Red has several spells that will protect him if you aren't careful.  Trust me, you don't want to be on the receiving end of either one."  I shrugged apologetically.  "Sorry—I'm not trying to scare you guys.  I just want to avoid any unpleasantness."

I smiled hesitantly and then brought Red to the tabletop, on the palm of my hand.  He stepped off to take a seat next to my water bottle.  Everyone, except Vince and I, regarded Red with wide eyes, and Agent Cheung looked both surprised and pleased.

“Red, this is Agent Cunningham, Agent Cheung, Lieutenant Jensen, and you already know Detective Vanelli.”  I motioned toward each person around the table.

“Pleased to make your acquaintances,” Red said in his usual polite manner, with a curt nod of his cuddly head.

Agent Cunningham regarded Red with a mixed expression of disbelief and awe.  After a moment of shocked silence, he addressed Red.  “Red…do you mind if I call you Red?”

“A casual tone to these proceedings is acceptable.  You may address me as Red if you wish.”

“Thank you.  Please call me Mark or just Cunningham—whatever makes you comfortable.”  Cunningham shifted slightly in his chair.  “Have you been following our discussion?  Are you aware that the murderer has mentioned several private facts involving Ms. Devon’s personal life?”

“Yes.  My hearing is excellent and my memory is impeccable.  I have been at Lire’s side for most of her life and witness to most of her conversations.  I cannot add anything to your discussion.  She has mentioned all the indivils with whom she has discussed the facts in question.  Of course, I cannot comment on conversations that took place when I was absent.  During her desperate flight through the Redridge woods, where she nearly ended her life, I was aware of no other individuals on the plateau that afternoon.  It is my continued belief that we were unobserved that day.”

Cunningham made a short entry in his notebook and spoke again before he had totally finished writing.  “And, I understand that you provided information about the magic at Jason Warner's crime scene.  Would you please discuss your findings with us and how you know about such things?”

“Certainly.  My past history will explain somewhat, I do imagine.  I was born to my mortal life, in the year 1665, in London, and was trained in necromancy by my reclusive uncle, from the age of six until I was twenty.  I came to America in the spring of 1691, where I met my fiancée, who was also a magic user.  In August of the next year, I was imprisoned, tried, condemned, and hung to my death, during what most Americans now call the Salem witch trials.  At the time of my death, however, I allowed my soul to be captured because I didn’t want to abandon my fiancée and was afraid to die.

“Although I can no longer practice sorcery, I am able to detect magic.  At both crime scenes, I determined that the warlock summoned Paimon because that demon is known for utilizing a particular spell that suppresses most forms of magic.  The remnants of that spell were still present when we visited those sites.  I also felt the after-effects of a forced confinement spell, which is an extremely powerful spell that only high level beings like Paimon are able to produce.”  Red hesitated.  “There was one other spell cast before the circle was broken, and it was one with which I am unfamiliar.  I can tell you, however, that it was not a spell used in necromancy.”

“Interesting,” commented Cunningham as he wrote quickly in his notebook.  “And this forced confinement spell; it is used for what, exactly?”

Red put his paws together on his lap and explained, “A confinement spell is what was used when I was executed in 1692.  It is a spell that both necromancers and witches or warlocks are able to perform, but it cannot be forced upon an individual.  More specifically, the person being targeted by the spell has free will and cannot be forced into committing their soul to someone else.  If they refuse, then their soul makes its way to its intended destination, depending upon how they lived their life.  As you might imagine, most of the people who allow their souls to be captured either have unfinished business in the world of the living, are afraid to die, or know that their soul is destined for Hell and want to avoid going there.

“Now, in the case of a forced confinement spell, the targeted individual has no free will.  At the time of their death, if the spell is cast, then their soul is captured and confined to the intended storage medium.  In the case of Jason Warner and Trinity Wilson, Lire discovered that their souls were confined to their bones.”

Agent Cunningham shook his head in amazement as he committed the important details to paper.

“That’s frightening.”  Jensen's eyes were disbelieving.  “So this…this Paimon…it can just pop up and snatch someone’s soul anytime it wants?”

“No.  Certainly not.  Lieutenant Jensen, there are strict rules that govern the spirit world.  Any demon, not just Paimon, can only cross over to this world when specific magic allows it.  Once they are here, they have a limited range.  Unfortunately, the murderer is a warlock with great skill.  He is utilizing the evil power of Paimon to further his plans.  Paimon has its own agenda, to be sure, but it must operate within the boundaries of its covenant.  Each of the victims was tempted by Paimon because the warlock has allowed it.”

Cunningham grunted in acknowledgement.  “This third spell, you say that it isn’t a necromancy spell.  Why do you say that?”

Red paused before answering, “Agent Cunningham, I am loath to speculate.  My general feelings about the spell may or may not prove to be helpful.  I can only say that I am unfamiliar with it.  Although, I felt as though it was an evocation that I should be familiar with, almost as if it was on the tip of my tongue."  He shook his head.  "I'm sorry I cannot be of more help.  If I may ask, what did your own magic expert say about the spells?”

Cunningham sighed and made a casual motion with his pen.  “We had two experts visit the site and both of them said basically the same thing you have.  One was a necromancer and the other was a Rowan witch.  Neither of them could determine the third spell, but they both said it felt familiar.”

Agent Cunningham looked at me.  “Ms. Devon, I was hoping to hear about your experience with reading Jason Warner and Patty Schaeffer’s remains.  We have Detective Vanelli’s report, of course, but I was hoping to discuss it with you here, in person.”

I couldn’t help but issue an audible sigh in response to his request.  “Okay.  Do you just want to ask me questions, or do I have to start from the beginning and retell each individual encounter?”

“We can review the report and then go from there,” Cunningham suggested.

We spent the next ninety minutes reviewing my statements and answering various questions.  I didn’t feel as though the additional information provided anything significant toward identifying the murderer, but maybe I was just being grumpy after being confined to the conference room for nearly four hours without a break.

It was pushing one o’clock, and I was tired of wracking my brain for details.  My stomach growled incessantly, which furthered my crabby mood.

When the questions died down and I figured we had gone around in circles enough, I complained to Cunningham.  “Well, I’m tired and hungry, and I’d like to enjoy what’s left of my weekend.  Do you mind if we adjourn for now?  I think we’ve covered just about every detail possible.”  I widened my eyes in exasperation.

Cunningham chuckled and turned off the video recording.  “That’s fine.  Thank you for coming down and speaking with us, Ms. Devon.  Red, thank you.”  He removed a card from a small leather case and put it on the table.  “Here is my card.  Please don’t hesitate to call me if you think of anything else that may be of interest to us.  You can also, of course, continue to communicate with Lieutenant Jensen and Detective Vanelli.  Don’t forget to let one of us know if you need to meet with a new client outside of your office.  Your accident earlier today may have been a coincidence, but it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.”

I nodded and held my purse open for Red as everyone gathered their items and stood up to leave.  Before wandering toward the lobby, I thanked Agent Cheung, which seemed to entertain him.  Since I didn’t want to reveal our personal relationship, I said goodbye to Vince and Jensen and then headed toward the front door on my own.  As I neared the lobby, however, I heard Vince call my name from behind me.  I turned around and saw him talking with Jensen, just outside of the conference room.  He held up his index finger in a gesture that told me to wait.

I lingered at the other end of the hall, trying not to feel self-conscious, while Vince finished his conversation.  Whenince finally walked toward me, his lingering gaze made me feel awkward and I'm sure I smiled like a goof.  It sure wasn't easy trying to play things cool.

“Jensen wanted me to walk you to your car.”  He winked mischievously.

While my stomach lurched, I folded my arms and looked down.  I fought to school my expression.  “Okay.”

Before turning to leave, I glanced down the hall and caught Jensen’s eye.  He was talking with Agent Cunningham, but waved at me.  I returned his goodbye gesture and followed Vince out the door.

“How are you feeling?” he asked when we were in the hallway outside.

I gave him a wan smile.  “Pretty stressed about…well…everything.”  I shook my head and tried not to sound whiney.  “There’s so much going on right now—this case, Nick’s death, the incident with the car, Sheriff Lancer, my Mom…  Ugh!  It’s overwhelming.”

Vince was sympathetic.  “You’ve had a lot to deal with.  I’m impressed with how well you’re doing.”

The elevator opened almost immediately.  As soon as we were inside with the doors closed, Vince stepped closer and hugged me.  I sighed with contentment.  It felt amazingly good to be comforted in this way.  Contrary to my Dad's old adage, sometimes good things did indeed come from wishing.

Vince walked me to my car and told me that he would meet me back at my apartment.  On the short drive home, I debated with myself about whether or not to take him into my bed.  I knew that I had to make a decision now, or I’d end up going with the flow when we got back to my apartment.  And I was willing to bet the flow would be hot and heavy, unless I made sure to keep things under control.  It was the classic push-and-pull debate between my head and my hormones.  My head was telling me that I should take things slowly, get to know Vince, and make sure the relationship was going to be right for the both of us.  My hormones were making sure to flood my body with sparks of desire at the merest thought of Vince's naked pectorals.  And I was thinking about those (and some of his other well formed body parts) a whole heck of a lot!  Gah!

After telling Chet that Vince was somewhere behind me, I pulled into the parking garage and parked in my designated slot.  I walked toward the guest parking stalls, just as Vince entered the garage.  My hormones spiked as I watched him climb out of his Jeep and walk toward me.  I paid particular attention to the way his leather coat and snug blue jeans accentuated the contours of his body.  When his roguish smile hit me, I knew that nothing short of a miracle was going to keep me on the right side of the sheets, puritanical decision or not.

“I’m just going to walk you up,” Vince told me as he held my hand and walked with me toward the elevator.  “I have to get back home and take care of a few things.”

I’m sure my face displayed an amusing array of contradictory emotions—chiefly disappointment and relief.  Vince must have noticed because he tugged my hand.  “I wish I could stay longer though.”

“I do too…and then I don’t.”  I laughed and leaned into him while we walked.  “If you stay, I know my willpower will be tested to the extreme.”

Once inside the elevator we kissed.  Armed with the knowledge that Vince was going to leave, I was a little more on the uninhibited side.  When the elevator bell rang at my floor, we pulled apart torridly.

Vince breathed, “Wow.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

At my door, I was pleased to note that Vince was looking breathless.  So was I,or that matter.

Vince pulled me closer.  His expression was ardent.  “Now I wish I hadn’t said that I had to go.”

I deliberately and strategically leaned against him.  “Mmmm.  I’m afraid I let you have it because I knew that I was safe.  Terrible of me, don’t you think?”

“You’re a rascal.”  His husky voice sent a delicious tremor throughout my body.

After much heavy breathing and two aborted goodbyes, we finally parted, and I went inside reluctantly.  I was giddy with delight that Vince seemed to be just as disinclined to part ways.  I realized that it had been a very long time since I had been so happy.

My good mood lasted for the rest of the weekend, in spite of the fact that most of my telephone messages were from reporters and one was from Nick’s attorney, who told me that I was indeed Nick’s sole beneficiary and the executor of his will.  I was going to have to take some additional time away from work to deal with Nick’s estate.  The process was likely to take several days if not more.  Because I had already missed so much work, I hoped that I could postpone the trip to Coventry for at least a week or two.

I didn’t see Vince for the rest of the weekend, but he made up for it by calling several times, and it was his voice that I always heard just before I went to bed.

Surprisingly, in my dreams I did not dream of Vince, but went flying with Jason and Trinity.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

When I left for work on Monday morning, I decided to skip stopping at Peabody’s, my recent brush with a speeding hood ornament being foremost on my mind.  The night before, Vince admonished me to be careful on my way to and from work, as if I needed reminding.  By the time I reached ST&C, I saw assassins lurking around every corner, my nerves were totally shot, and I practically bolted for the front door.

When a strange man called my name from his nearby car and started walking quickly toward me, my heart dove into my stomach.  Panicked, I stood with my body wedged halfway inside the office doorway.

“Yes?”  I checked his appearance thoroughly and looked for any sign of a weapon.

From another direction, I noticed several other people walking quickly in my direction, some of them with cameras.  It finally dawned on me that these people were probably reporters.

Suddenly, there were at least six people in front of me, all asking questions at once, mostly about the Circle Murders.  I had to practically shout above them to make myself heard.  “Please, stop.  I can’t answer any questions about the case.  You'll have to talk with the Chiliquitham Police Department or the FBI.”  When they still persisted in asking questions, I just held up my hand and shook my head.  “I’m sorry.  I can't comment.”

Two of the reporters made a move to follow me inside and I admonished them.  “Don’t even think about it!”

Looking over my shoulder for intruders, I walked inside the office and probably gave Monica a really distracted greeting.

Monica was enthusiastic.  “Lire!  How are you doing?  It’s so good to see you!”  Before I could answer, she added with a sympathetic frown, “I’m really sorry to hear about your Mom and now your friend Nick.”

“Thanks, Monica,” I muttered.  I stopped in front of her desk, but kept the front door within sight.  “I’m doing okay.  It's been one thing after another, but I’m hanging in there.  How's it been here?”

Ambination of relief and excitement flooded her expression.  “Well, everyone’s going to be so glad to see that you’re okay.”  She took a big gulp of air and gushed, “Things here have been insane!  You wouldn’t believe all the calls we’ve gotten in the last week!  And the reporters!  Well, you can see for yourself.  They've been calling and coming in—all wanting to talk to you or hear about you.”

I slapped a hand to my face, dismayed because I hadn’t considered how my unwanted notoriety would affect my coworkers.  “I didn't think about how this whole mess was affecting you guys here."  I sighed loudly.  "I guess we’ll have to see how it goes, now that they know I’m here at the office.  I’ll give you the number of the Chiliquitham Police Department and the name of the person that the reporters can contact for information.”  I pulled out Jensen’s business card and wrote down the main number for the station, along with his full name.

I continued, “Just tell them that I’m not allowed to comment on the case and they should speak with Lieutenant Jensen.  Not that they don’t already know this, but if they ask you for the number, at least you have it.  Or, you can just hang up on them if you want.”  I looked again toward the front door.  “If they try to come in and it becomes a problem, then I’m sure we can call the police for help.”

Monica nodded at me.  “Don't worry.  I’ll drive ‘em off!”  She slapped her fist into the palm of her hand with a hard expression on her face and then laughed.  “Jack really let them have it, last week.  You should have seen him!”  We both giggled, and then I took the opportunity to walk back toward my office.

Jake’s office was two doors down from mine, and I noticed that the lights were on and the door was open.  I peered inside and saw him typing away at his keyboard.  Jake was tall, thin, and had very dark brown, almost black, hair.  His face was narrow with high cheekbones and a slightly upturned nose.  I also noticed that he had attained a healthy looking bronze tan while on vacation.  Jake and his girlfriend had gone to a resort in Mexico, I recalled.

When I said hello, he instantly jumped up to greet me.  Jake looked me over, as if to verify that I was indeed recovered from my recent hospital stay, and I had to assure him that I was fine.  After we chatted for a few minutes about his trip, I filled him in on everything that he missed while he was gone, which turned out to be quite a lengthy discussion.  Not soon after, Nathan, John, and Samantha also arrived at work and joined us in Jake’s office.  They were all excited to see me.  After the initial queries regarding the status of my health, they barraged me with questions about my recent experiences with the police and FBI.  I gave them answers that didn’t compromise the confidential nature of the case, and they were very good-natured about my evasions, much to my relief.  Finally, the conversation turned to the reporters outside and all the publicity.  There was considerable speculation about what the media attention was going to do for our business.  After nearly thirty minutes, we finally broke up to meet with clients or push papers or make with the magic.

By the time I walked into my office, I was more than ready to sit down, put my feet up, and spend some time catching up on paperwork.  I fully expected that I had e-mail and voice mail messages up the wazoo; a tad daunting, but it felt good to be back at work.

So, I was a little distracted when I entered my darkened office and threw my coat on the spare guest chair next to the door.

An unfamiliar, deep voice came from the window seat.  “Hello, Lire.”

I gasped for breath and clutched my chest with surprise.  Mead snapped up, and I focused on a figure outlined against the illumination not totally dampened by the closed aluminum blinds.

A deep, amiable laugh resonated from the direction of the figure.  He appeared to have a medium build with broad shoulders and closely cropped hair.  I quickly located the light switch and snapped it on with a click.  Light flooded the room and it revealed a man, probably in his early thirties, with golden brown hair tied back in a ponytail, large brown, or maybe hazel, eyes and a swooping, refined nose.  All in all, it was an attractive face and it struck me as being slightly familiar.

“I’m sorry I startled you.”  Although he was smiling, he sounded apologetic.

Put at ease by his amused disposition and vague familiarity, I gave him a light scolding.  “Jeez!  You scared the hell out of me!  Who are you?  What are you doing here in my office?  Monica didn’t tell me that I had a client waiting.”

He had a charming smile that revealed straight, even teeth.  “No, she wouldn’t.  She doesn’t remember that I’m here.”

I involuntarily cocked an eyebrow at the strange statement.  “Come again?”

He laughed again.  “You don’t remember me either, do you?”

“Uh…” I was temporarily put out of sorts by the oddity of our conversation.  I shook my head as if to clear it, walked closer to the stranger, and peered at him closely.  “Well, now that you mention it…you do seem a bit familiar…” a sudden realization sent chills spiraling down my spine.

“We were friends at Coventry Academy until I left in the eighth grade.  I’m Daniel Stockard.”  He looked at me expectantly.

I gasped as my hands flew up to cover my mouth in shock.  My vision narrowed down to focus on his face and I felt slightly light headed.  It was simply too much of a coincidence that I had just spoken about Daniel to the FBI and now he was standing right in front of me.

“This is just too weird.”  I staggered over to my desk chair.  Daniel moved out of my way, so I had room to sit.  I landed heavily before putting my purse down on the window bench so Red could climb out.

Normally, if Red heard an unfamiliar voice, he would stay out of sight.  Since he knew Daniel, he climbed out.

Daniel looked down.  “Hello again, Red.”

“Good morning, Daniel.  It has certainly been a long time.”

I gazed at Daniel and shook my head.  “I’m stunned.”  I laughed nervously.  “I don’t know what to say.”

Then don’t say anything, he thought at me.

Already reeling from the shock of seeing him, the intimacy of Daniel’s thoughts in my mind was too much.  My hand flew up in a blocking gesture as my shield shot up full strength, and I forced his presence from my mind.  The involuntary sound of shock that came out of my mouth conveyed both surprise and sadness.

He stepped closer to reassure me.  “Lire, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Daniel had no idea that his act of telepathy would dredge up so many complicated memories for me.  Our secret means of communication was one of the many things that fostered our closeness as kids.

I inhaled deeply and nodded at him, waving away his need to apologize.  “It’s not you.  I’ve had a trying few weeks.  This just adds to the list of shocks I’ve experienced, lately.”  I straightened my back and gestured for him to sit down in the guest chair across from my desk.

Daniel moved to sit down.“You’ve grown quite a bit stronger since I knew you.  You never used to be able to push me out like that.  I’m impressed.”

“You weren’t even trying,” I chastised, even though I knew it was the truth.  “God, Daniel!  It’s been a while.”

“I know, and I bet you’re wondering why I’m here.”

“It doesn’t take a mind reader to know that.”

He smiled, but looked a little sad at the same time.  Daniel leaned forward and clasped his hands between his opened knees as he rested his elbows on his thighs.  It was a friendly, casual pose, but it also conveyed the impression that he had something important to say.

“Lire, it isn’t a coincidence that I am here at this time in your life.”  He cocked his head slightly to the side.  “Did you ever wonder what happened to me after I left so suddenly from school?  For years, I wondered how you were doing and what you were up to.”

“Then why didn’t you contact me?  You could have written me a letter.  I was at Coventry for another four and a half years after you left.”  I looked at him in puzzlement, pain apparent in my voice.  “No one would tell me what happened to you.  At first they were nice about it, but after a while they told me to mind my own business or I'd be in trouble.  After I graduated and went on to college, I tried a little digging, but the school still wouldn’t tell me anything.  Finally, I just gave up.  I figured that you had forgotten about me.”

“I didn’t forget.”  He sighed and then leaned back in the chair, casually perching his elbows on the arm rests.  “I wasn’t allowed to contact anyone from my past for a very long time.  Actually, if it weren’t for recent events and the fact that I knew you in my past life, then I wouldn’t even be here now.”

I frowned at him.  “Why?  I don’t understand.”

He crossed leg over knee to get comfortable and tilted his head slightly.  “Do you remember the day I gave you a false memory about running naked in a sea of tulips?”

I blushed.  Even after so much time, I still felt the embarrassment associated with our budding sexuality and the progressive change in our relationship from childlike adoration to more adult themes.  It was a confusing time that was made even more perplexing by the unique way in which we shared the totality of our thoughts with each other.

I replied, “I remember.”

“That was the first time I realized that I could insert or alter someone else’s memories or thoughts.”

“Yeah, I remember.  We were both surprised.”  It was thrilling too.  I recalled kissing him for the first time in the stairwell behind the library, just before the incident with the tulips.

“Well, that act didn’t go unnoticed by…certain individuals.”

I looked at him in surprise.  “Someone was spying on us?”

He tipped his head in thought.  “Sort of, yes.  What we didn’t know was that I was occasionally being scanned by some representatives from another…school.  They were keeping an eye on me and looking for any indication that I could alter thoughts as well as just read them."

“Oh.  So, when they figured that out, they asked you and your parents if you wanted to go to their school instead?”

“No.  It wasn’t that simple.  Or nice.  I wasn’t given an option.”  He looked at me grimly.  “That day, two men showed up and told me that they were taking me to their school.  When I refused, they said I didn’t have a choice.  My parents had already agreed to se me, and that was the end of it.  The Dean was there and told me the same thing.  They forced me to pack all of my things and then escorted me out.  I wasn’t allowed to say goodbye to anyone, and they arranged it so that no one saw me leave.  It was one of the worst days of my life.”

My eyebrows compressed doubtfully, “But why didn’t you write me?”

“I wasn’t allowed to contact anyone.  Lire, you don’t understand.  This school…it’s more than just a school.  It’s a very secret organization too.  They don’t want anyone knowing about them.  In fact, they go out of their way to prevent that from happening.”

I was alarmed.  “You mean they kill them?”

He barked with laughter.  “No.  Lire.  Think about it.  All they have to do is go and alter someone’s memories.”

I gazed at him and felt a look of dreadful realization creep across my face.  My stomach felt like I had swallowed a brick at breakfast as the murderer’s words jumped suddenly to mind.

…sooner or later they’ll come calling and, believe me, you’re no match for them.  They don’t want the police to catch me, you see.  They’ll work their deceptions, their subtle magic, and then catching me suddenly won’t seem so important…

THEY.  Could this be the mysterious ‘they’ that the murderer was talking about?  Daniel said that it wasn’t a coincidence that he was here right now, at this point in my life.

I regarded my childhood sweetheart, uneasiness plain on my face, and put all of my energy into creating an impenetrable shield around my thoughts.

“Daniel…”  I made a gesture with my hand, but didn't know what to say.

“Listen, I’m not here to hurt you or mess with your head…but there are others.”  He put both feet on the floor and again leaned toward me.  His look was intense.  “I came here to warn you and to talk to you because you have no way to know what a precarious situation you are in.”

I decided to play dumb for the time being.  “I don’t understand.  What am I doing that’s so terrible?  Until now, I didn’t know anything about this…this secret organization.  It seems to me that you’ve just put me into danger by coming here to tell me all this.”

“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the fact that you have come to their attention.  You have been told about them, and they know it.  Don’t deceive yourself.  You know what I am talking about.”

I whispered, “The Circle Murders.”

“Yes.”

“But what do the murders have to do with this secret organization?  You said yourself that they don’t have to go around murdering people.”  I glared at him.  “Dammit!  This warlock killed someone I loved!  I want him caught, and I’m going to do everything in my power to help that happen.  Are you saying that this secret group doesn’t want him stopped?  Do the victim's lives mean so little to them?”

Daniel turned his head to the side slightly and closed his eyes.  After a moment, I thought I heard steps in the hallway that receded toward the direction of the lobby.

I realized something.  “You altered Monica’s memory, didn’t you?  That’s what you meant about her not remembering that you were here.”  I glanced at my open office door.  “And just now, you redirected someone who was coming to check on me, didn’t you?”

He sighed.  “Yes.  No one can know that I am here.”

I cupped my hands on either side of my face and groaned with frustratioas I massaged my temples.  Just this morning, I was able to remove the cumbersome bandage on my right hand and it felt good to be rid of it.

“So…if I stop helping the police, this secret organization will leave me alone.  Is that it?”

Daniel looked at me tiredly.  “Yes.”

“And if I don’t?”

He sighed.  “If you don’t, then things will go badly for you.  You will inexplicably lose clients.  Your friends and family will turn against you.  The government will take an interest in your tax returns.  Your neighbors will shun you, or the police will decide you’re involved in a criminal activity.  Or, worse.”

I felt sick.  I looked at Daniel with open fear, shaking my head progressively faster and faster.  “No, no, no…they can’t.  They can’t.”

Daniel looked stricken.  “I’m sorry, Lire.  There’s nothing I can do.  My superiors asked me to come here.  They are hoping that hearing the message from me will make you more inclined to cooperate.”

“Daniel…why?  I don’t understand!  Why don’t they want the murderer stopped?  He’s killing psychics for God’s sake!”

“They have their reasons.”  He didn’t sound terribly reassuring.

“What reason is there for letting this warlock kill people?  He’s a warlock!  He’s not even a telepath!”

Daniel looked at me with a strange expression—a combination of surprise and fear, I decided.

I sat up straight.  “Holy crap!  He’s a telepath and a warlock, isn’t he?”  Thoughts raced around in my head and I couldn't help thinking out loud.  “That’s why they don’t want him caught.  He knows about them, doesn’t he?  Maybe he even went to school with you…  He knows about this secret organization, and they don’t want him caught because he might reveal things about them.”  I shook my head and my brows drew down.  “But, that doesn’t make any sense.  I mean…your group…they can just alter everyone’s memory—pull out any mention of their secret club.  When the murderer is first caught, not that many people will have access to him.  Why can't they just change everyone memories, even the killer’s?”

Daniel snorted.  “We’re not gods, Lire.  Something of that magnitude is uncontrollable.  The spread of thought is a bit like the spread of a virus.  Once it gets loose among a group of people, it's virtually unstoppable.  It must be contained as much as possible.  To do this, it's necessary for the murderer to remain at large until we can catch up to him.  It isn’t as if we condone his activities.  We are using all of our powers to look for him and pursuing every lead possible, just like the police.  In fact, we are monitoring the police and the FBI very closely, so that we can get to him first.  He is being pursued.  You don’t have to worry about that.  We aren’t about to let him run amok.  We want him stopped as much as you do.”

I wondered how I was meant to remove myself from the case.  The police and FBI expected my help.  Was I supposed to just tell them no, without any explanation?  I thought about Vince and our budding relationship.  How could I say no to him?

I gestured with my right hand, palm up.  “I really don’t see how my continued help will change things very much.  I mean, if you guys are closely monitoring the situation, can’t you just swoop in before he’s about to be caught?  I mean, it’s not like I can lead the charge in his capture or something like that!  I’m just a consultant, not a detective.  So far, I haven’t told them much more than the connection between all the victims and Nickds study.”

Daniel considered me for a moment, clearly considering what to say.  “There are other things at work here.  Things that you don’t know.  Things that even I don’t know, although, I’ve heard a few rumors.”  He paused in silent thought.  “I’ve been told that you are currently one of the individuals centered at a crossroads of timelines.  These timelines, or prophecies, concern the murderer and our organization.”

I must have looked confused because he shifted to a different subject as if it would explain everything.  “Look…didn’t you notice that I wasn’t the only student at Coventry who left suddenly?”

My thoughts shot back to memories of school and the friends and acquaintances from that time in my life.  I tried to recall if anyone else had left in similar circumstances.  Vaguely, I remembered a girl a couple of years younger who left suddenly in the middle of the year.  I didn’t know her personally, but I thought I remembered some hoopla over the incident.  And there were several other students who left unexpectedly, but the reason was attributed to poor grades or just the normal comings and goings that happen when families move to other parts of the country.

He nodded when he noticed my expression.  “I can see that you do.  I’m guessing that most of those students were probably either telepaths or diviners.”

I looked at him intently as I tried to remember anything about the students that left the school, for whatever reason.  One of them, the girl that was a few years younger, was indeed a diviner.

“So you’re saying that this school you went to…this secret organization…they were recruiting diviners and telepaths from Coventry?”

“Yes.”

If he was going to add anything further, I didn’t let him.  I plunged ahead.  “And Coventry just let them stroll on in and evaluate to their heart’s content?  And then snap up anyone they thought was a good addition to their secret school?”

This all just sounded way too farfetched.  Strangers weren’t allowed to meander around campus.  Coventry had tight security.  Anyone roaming the school, observing students, would have stood out like a sore thumb.

Daniel was unflappable.  “Yes.  That’s exactly what they do.”

“Come on, Danny!  I would have remembered strangers coming into the school to watch us.  It was a closed campus for God’s sake!  Remember all the magic we had to use, just to get outside unobserved?  And more than half the time we got caught.”

He looked at me calmly.  “I know.  I think some of the spies were security guards.  And, think about it.  Think about how I just got into your office.”  He raised his eyebrows at me.

I flopped back into my chair.  “This sounds completely crazy, you know that?”

Daniel smiled grimly.  “I know.  But I also know that the murderer told you some things that lend credence to what I am telling you.  And, I think you also know that I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“The Daniel I knew, way back when, wouldn’t lie to me, but this Daniel…”  I pointed my finger at him.  “This Daniel I don’t know.  A lot of years have gone by.”

I shook my head and tried to remember why we deviated to the subject of diviners.  How did they figure into the conversation?  While I was in mid-thought, I heard the sound of footsteps approaching from the direction of Jack’s office.  Once again, Daniel tilted his head and narrowed his eyes in concentration and the footsteps stopped.  After a brief moment, I heard the footsteps retreat.  I imagid Jack walking back to his office, totally unaware that he had been looking for me in the first place.  The image was disturbing.  It bothered me greatly that Daniel was mucking about in my friend’s brains and altering their thoughts.

I sighed and, in spite of all my worries, tried to recollect my thoughts.  I had been thinking about diviners.  They had the power to see into the future—a small part of the future—but the further into the future they attempted to foresee, the more uncertain their prophecies became.

“You said the people you work for think that if I involve myself significantly in the murder investigation that somehow I will…what?  Cause them harm?  Diviners in your organization have foreseen this.  Is that it?”

“Yes.  Well, that’s what I’ve heard.  They believe that unless you remove yourself from the case, you will be entangled in the timeline and become part of the future that they have foreseen.”  Daniel tilted his head and gave me a pleading look.  “Lire, we are not evil people, but it is paramount that our organization remain secret.  Can you imagine what the government would do, not to mention the population at large, if they realized that there was a group of psychics who have the ability to alter their thoughts?”

I sighed.  “So, I guess telepathy is not as rare as we have all been led to believe?”

Daniel just stared at me with raised eyebrows.

“Right.  So, this whole thing is about your secret organization’s desire to stay under the radar?  And, this warlock…if he's caught…they think he will blab secrets to so many people that it will compromise their organization?”  I laughed harshly.  “Give me a break!  It’s like I’ve been teleported into some deranged science fiction spy movie!”

“Lire.  I can assure you, this is most serious.  There are those who will stop at nothing to protect our secrecy.  I had to call in several favors just to get permission to speak with you.  It is not in their nature to be trusting, but I am one of a growing number who feel that strong-arm tactics are not always the best choice of action; especially when another psychic is concerned.”

“What?  So, the deal is:  I stay out of the way or things get nasty?”  My anger was growing, despite his placating words.  “That sure sounds like strong-arm tactics to me.”

“No, Lire.  Strong-arming is sending in a group of telepaths to wipe your mind.”  He looked at me imploringly.  “Please.  I don’t want to see that happen to you.”

I felt the blood rush out of my face and my bowels tighten.  I didn’t know precisely what a mind wipe entailed, but he said it in such a chilling way that I knew it wasn’t pleasant.

…well, let’s just say that you won’t be in your right mind for long…

I shivered at the recollection of the murderer’s warning.  “God!  This is absurd!  It's like some twisted nightmare!”  I slapped both hands to my forehead in frustration and covered my eyes for a moment.

Red suddenly spoke from his perch on the window seat.  “Lire, it’s not as though the FBI are solely relying on your help to capture the murderer—you said so yourself.  You have been through enough on this case already.  I think Cunningham will be more than understanding if you tell him that you don’t want any further involvement.”

I sighed in resignation, although, a part of me railed against being blackmailed into the decision.  “Fine.”  I glared at Daniel.  “Go tell your associates that your mission was accomplished.”

Daniel regarded me sadly, and I felt a pang of guilt at taking my anger out on him.  He stood up.  “I will.  Lire, I’m sorry that this had to be the subject of our first meeting after so many years.”

My anger wavered slightly at his apology.  “So am I.”

Daniel walked to the doorway of my office and turned to me.  “Please watch yourself.  I’ve tried to protect you as best I can, but there are others who will be watching you closely.  Don’t give them reason to…confront you, okay?”

I suddenly remembered my close call with the runaway car.  “You mean like confronting me with the front end of a Chrysler, like the other day?  Don’t worry, I got the message.”

He walked partway back into my office, puzzlement plain on his face.  “What are you talking about?”

I rolled my eyes.  “I guess your secret pals haven’t kept you totally informed.  Somehow, that doesn’t leave me feeling reassured.”  In fact, the thought terrified me.  Maybe this conversation was totally meaningless and a telepathic hit squad was gunning for me regardless of my agreement to stay out of the investigation.

“Tell me.”

I sighed.  “There’s not much to tell.  A stolen car attempted to rearrange my internal organs on Saturday—the morning of my scheduled appointment with the FBI.”  I raised my eyebrow to underline the significance of the last part of the statement.

He shook his head.  “No.  We don’t work that way.”

“Uh-huh.  Right.  Well, be sure to tell your friends not to jump to any conclusions when they see the police or FBI offering me some type of protection.  They asked me for my complete schedule.  They don’t think that the hit-and-run was a coincidence.  I’m supposed to call them if I need to go out on an appointment with any new clients.”

Daniel looked concerned and then closed his eyes in concentration.  After nearly thirty seconds, he asked me, “Do you give me your word that you will not participate any further in the murder investigation?”

He hadn’t really asked me for a commitment earlier.  Now he, or rather, they, were demanding a promise.  Just a guess, but I had a feeling they weren’t going to let me go home and think about it.

Slowly, a dreadful thought came to mind and started to percolate…what if Daniel was somehow involved with the murderer?  What if this was just an elaborate ruse to get me to stop helping the police?  What if there was no clandestine organization of telepaths and the man in front of me was a stranger in league with the murderer, or even the murderer himself?  Terror crept over me like a slow moving wave.

At that moment, I finally noticed the gold ring on the middle finger of his left hand.

Full-fledged terror swathed all my senses.  Adrenaline coursed through my veins and everything took on a grainy appearance.  Without thinking, I abruptly jumped up and backed toward the window seat where Red was sitting.  The sudden movement caused my office chair to topple over sideways with a resounding crash.  My wide eyes focused intently on Daniel’s behavior.  For the moment, he remained near the doorway.

“Stay away from me!” I shouted.  Daniel hadn’t yet made a move to approach me, but he was watching me with narrowed eyes.

I tried to picture what he would look like with a cape and mask.

“Lire?  What’s wrong?”  He took a few steps toward me and raised his palms in a placating manner, but I couldn't keep my eyes off his gold ring.  “Did you sense my sending?”

He was putting on a good act, but I remained on guard and redoubled the power of my shield, in case he decided to launch a telepathic attack.

“I don’t know you!  You could be anyone!  How do I know you’re really Daniel?  How do I know you’re not…”  I shut my mouth with an audible clack.

I should have gone along with him!  I was such an idiot!  Now that he knew I was on to him, there was no telling what he would do!  I frantically looked around for some kind of weapon, but there was nothing nearby.  Suddenly, I remembered my antique silver letter opener that was in my desk drawer.  Before I knew it, I had the sharp implement in my hand and brandished it in Daniel’s direction.

Daniel hadn’t moved, but the look on his face was not what I expected.  He didn’t look aggressive or violent in the least.  He looked horrified.

“Lire!  Oh my God!  The prophecy!”

He looked quickly toward the hallway, in response to many footsteps and concerned voices coming from both ends of the hall.  Clearly, my shouting had been heard by most of my coworkers.  Daniel, or whoever he was, clenched his fists and closed his eyes with obvious concentration.

Immediately, the hallway was completely silent.

My terror ran up another notch.  I was alone and without help.  The impersonator, now blocking the doorway, had the power to send away anyone wanting to help me.  What was I going to do?  While I waited for inspiration to strike, I frantically regarded the faux-Daniel, letter opener still clutched in my hand.  I watched as he opened his eyes and slowly sat down in the guest chair he had occupied earlier.  He put his head in his hands.

This strange behavior had the effect of bringing me down from my adrenaline high, although, my heart was still racing.

I regained enough sense to ask, although not as politely as I might have otherwise, “Prophecy!  You’re still gong on about that freaking prophecy?”

Here I was, brandishing a knife at him, and he starts babbling about the supposed prophecy.  What the hell?

He looked up at me sharply.  “How long have you been able to do that?”

“Do what?  What the hell are you talking about?”  I was having serious doubts about the sanity of the man sitting in front of me, and that thought alone almost sent me into adrenaline orbit all over again.

Daniel looked at me as though I was completely bonkers.  “Levitate!  What do you mean, ‘Do what?’  You just telekinetically grabbed the knife from your desk drawer!”

I looked at the knife in my hand, like it might suddenly sprout wings, and then at my opened desk drawer.  “You’re out of your mind!  I grabbed it myself, just now…because you’re the damn murderer!  Get the hell out of my office!”

“You’re the one who’s out of her mind!  Jesus, Lire.  What the hell is wrong with you?  One minute you’re talking calmly and the next minute you’re threatening me with a knife and calling me a murderer.  What the hell happened to set you off?”

I looked at him and didn’t know what to say.  If he was the murderer or in league with the murderer, then he was playing things really well.  I didn’t know what to do.

“Red?  What should I do?  I don’t know what to do.”  I suddenly felt like collapsing on the floor and curling myself into a ball.  Everything was spinning out of control.

Red spoke in his usual calm manner.  “Lire, follow your instincts.  I believe this to be Daniel, just as you do.  At the moment, Daniel is not offering you harm.  Keep on your guard, but talk to him.  One thing is certain, however…Daniel is correct.  You did not physically grab the knife from your drawer.  You did indeed open the drawer and the knife to your hand.  You did it with your mind, not your body.”

With a sharp cry, I dropped the knife and at least had the sense to jump back so that it didn’t spear my foot.  It landed with a clank and skittered under my desk.

“But, but th-that’s not puh-possible!” I exclaimed.

No psychic ever had more than one power.

It has something to do with the different energies involved.  The powers just don't mix.  Well, that's one theory.  The other notion is that more than one power actually dilutes a person's ability to wield magic, which is why witches and warlocks need rituals and runes to focus their power.  Truthfully, nobody really understands why psychics only have one magic ability.  It's just the way things are.  It's what makes psychics different from the other spell casters.  A psychic never had more than one gift.  Period.  End of story.

The idea that I somehow had acquired more than one psychic talent was unfathomable.  One power was what defined me as a psychic.  Having more than one power made me something…else.

I backed up against the window seat and sat down hard.

“So you’re saying that you didn’t know you had this ability?”  Daniel looked at me with narrowed, disbelieving eyes.

“No!  I mean yes!  I didn’t know!  I still don’t know!”  I shook my head.  “But Red says I did it, so I guess it’s true.  How can that be?  It's impossible!”

“Good God!  What are we going to do?”  He quickly amended, “What am I going to do?”  Daniel's face was contorted into an expression of grave worry.

“What are you talking about?”

“The prophecy!  This is part of the prophecy!”  He suddenly stood up.  “I have to go.  Shit!  I wish I hadn’t seen you do that!  They’re going to find out and God help you when they do!”

His grim demeanor was frightening.  I practically screeched, “What?  Why?  Daniel, What’s going on?”

“Look, there’s not much else I can do for you now.  I’m sorry.  I’ve done what I could, and I’ll see what else I can do, but…”  He shook his head.

Daniel started toward the door, but I stood up quickly and shouted, “Wait!  Daniel, don't go.  Please.  I don’t understand.  What is going on?  Why have things changed?  I told you that I’d stop with the investigation.”

“I don’t think that matters now.  They were hoping to stop you before the crossroads.  Now…now I’m afraid it’s too late.”

“What?  Dammit!  I don’t understand!  Please, stay and talk to me.  Tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m sorry.  Truly I am, but there’s nothing more I can do.  If I say anything else, I put the both of us at risk.  I have to go.”

I protested, but Daniel turned and walked quickly from my office.  He was through my office door and into the hallway before I had even come around my desk.  In the hallway, Jake, Jack, and Samantha were headed toward me, quite oblivious to the man who had just run past.  Jack asked whether I wanted to go with them for a coffee, and it took me precious moments to skirt around them.  By the time the lobby came into view, Daniel was gone.  I hurried to the front door, but the reporters were there, blocking my way.  I knew that Daniel had telepathically alerted them so that I would be unable to follow.

Stymied, I turned to look at Monica.  She was regarding me with a confused but amiable expression.  “What’s up, Lire?  You expecting someone?”

Before I could respond, Jack and the gang walked into the lobby and asked where I was going in an all fired hurry.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt so completely lost and confused.  I was also terrified.  Just what the hell was going on?  What was I supposed to believe?  I didn’t bother asking the others whether they had seen Daniel or felt his presence in their minds.  It was obvious that they had no recollection of the heated exchange in my office, the redirection of their actions, or Daniel’s rapid exit.

Red.  I needed to talk to Red.  He’d help me figure out what to do.

Quickly covering my distress, I apologized, made a hasty excuse about having a client to deal with, and managed to get back to my office without accompaniment.  I closed the door behind me.  It was meager protection against a possible telepath attack, but the secured door felt reassuring nevertheless.  Red was standing near the doorway, apparently where he stood waiting after I bolted after Daniel.

“Red!  Jesus fucking Christ!  What the hell is going on?”  I didn't swear often, but Red was hardly a prude and the profanity helped to exorcise some of my pent up fear.

“I don’t know, but we will discuss it.  You need to calm down so we can consider all the facts, meager as they are, and then we can contrive a course of action.”  He paused and tilted his head.  “Lire, you are not without power.  You are not helpless.  We will be all right.”

I walked over to my overturned office chair and struggled to get it upright.  Red climbed into his usual position on the window seat.

Pacing back and forth in front of the window, I fretted, “That was Daniel, wasn’t it?”

“What do you think?”

I sighed and plopped down into my chair.  “Yes, well, I did, at first anyway.  He tried to think to me, just like we used to, but I shut him out.  It was too overwhelming.”  I leaned my head back and thought back to my impression of Daniel.  “But then I suddenly started to worry that maybe he wasn't really Daniel—that he was actually the murderer."  Abashed, I shrugged.  "Now it seems stupid, but right then I saw his ring…the same ring the murderer wore…and it was on the same finger.”

“And that’s when you panicked?”

I nodded.  “Yeah.  I totally freaked when I saw it.  I couldn’t help it.  I mean…all the crazy stuff he was saying, it sounded just like the murderer.  It seemed like something the murderer would do, just to get me off the case.  And the ring was glinting, just like in Jason and Trinity's memories."  I threw up my hands.  "I don’t know…things just spiraled from there.  His voice didn’t sound the same as the one I heard in my readings, but maybe the murderer has an accomplice.  Oh!  I don’t know.  It’s all so confusing.”

Red replied, “I believe the main problem is that you were being asked to take Daniel’s word about this secret organization and that he was their messenger.  If you don’t trust the messenger, then the message will be in doubt too.  Is that not the case?”

“Yeah, I suppose so.  I mean…I haven’t spoken to him for years!  I can hardly say that I know him any more.  He’s practically a stranger.  And then I started to consider the possibility that he was a fake.  I’m still not a hundred percent sure that he was really Daniel!  He could be a telepath that stole Daniel’s memories.”

Red summarized, “Th are three main possibilities.  One—there really is a secret organization and Daniel was here to deliver their message; two—there is no secret organization and Daniel, or an impostor, is in league with the murderer; or three—someone within the FBI, or knowledgeable about the case, wants you removed so badly that they’d risk hiring a telepath to impersonate Daniel.  Those are the only three scenarios that would explain the messenger’s knowledge of what you recently told the FBI.”

I thought things over and then agreed, “Yes, I guess, but…was it really Daniel?”

“Presumably not many people know about your past history with Daniel, especially the incident with the tulips.”

“That’s true.  Until this visit, I assumed that only Daniel and I knew of that particular event.  Well, and you, of course, since I told you about it after it happened.”

Red sat with his legs crossed and gestured with his paw.  “So that, in addition to the extreme similarity in appearance and voice pattern, strongly indicates to me that the man here today was, in all probability, Daniel.”

“Yeah…I suppose," I said, still unsure.  "Even though I think the notion of a secret society of telepaths with a mind-wiping hit squad is completely outlandish, there are just too many similarities.  He did mention the thing with the tulips and he thought to me telepathically.  I suppose it’s possible that another telepath acquired this information from Daniel, but there’s the strong resemblance and his voice to consider too.  It was so long ago, but the way he talked was the same, don’t you think?  His voice was just deeper?  Ugh!  I keep doubting myself just a little, but you’re right…it was Daniel.”

Red nodded.  “So, we agree.  The man here today was indeed Daniel.  That eliminates the third scenario then, unless you think that Daniel works for the FBI and wants you off the case?  Or that someone inside the FBI asked him to come and threaten you in order to remove you from the investigation?”

“Both of those scenarios seem rather unlikely.  And, besides, the Daniel I knew and loved wouldn’t do something like that to me, much less anyone else.”

“Then we are left with scenario one or two.”  He paused and tilted his head slightly.  “If you don’t think that Daniel would threaten you to get you off the case for personal reasons or because someone from the FBI asked him to, then it seems rather unlikely that you can really believe that he is in league with the murderer.”

I sighed.  “No…I…I wouldn’t think so.”

“Lire, there are two circumstances to consider—either you believe Daniel is capable of murder, or at least accessory to murder, or that he was telling the truth about being a member of a secret telepath and diviner organization.”  He reached out and put his paw on my knee.  “Which is the more plausible?”

I slouched to the side, so that I could rest my uninjured elbow on the arm of my chair.  “When you put that way…I guess we’re back to believing what he said about the secret organization.  And I suppose that’s why both he and the murderer have the same ring.  It’s probably some secret club ring.”  I know that last bit sounded sarcastic and slightly bitter, but I couldn’t help it.  I was angry at being manipulated by some secret, nefarious organization that sent old friends to threaten me into doing their bidding.

“Yes.”

“Hell.  Now what do I do?  Presumably some fanatical telepathic hit squad could come after me at any time, as farfetched as that sounds!”

“Get back home.  You will be safe there.  Then we can think about what to do.”

The wards.  Yes.  The wards of my building would keep any telepathic attack at bay.  The djinn and security guards would protect me from any other physical attack.  But what about my friends?  My family?  My coworkers?

“Red.  What about all the other things Daniel said?  What about all his other threats?  They can turn everyone against me!”

“You can’t worry about that right now.  First things first.  We need to get back home and then we can think about what to do.  But you should call Vince immediately.  Tell him to meet you at your apartment.”

“But won’t that just drag him into this?  I don’t want him to get hurt.”

“I don’t know, but you need help.  At least when Vince is in your building, he will be safe.”

“Yeah, but he'll have to leave at some point.”

Red sighed.  “We’ll deal with that later.”

Still doubtful, I punched up Vince’s cell number.  He answered almost immediately.  “Lire?  Hey, what’s up?”

Tears threatened to taint my voice.  “Vince…uh…I’ve got a problem.  There’s been an incident at my office.”

He was immediately concerned.  “What?  What happened?  Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine, just a bit shook up.  Can you meet me at my apartment?  I need to get home where I know I’ll be safe.”

“Don’t move.  You’re at your office?  I’m on my way.  I was in the area anyway.  I can be there in ten minutes.”  I heard the rustle of his clothes, the sound of wind buffeting the telephone, and Vince’s slightly strained breathing, as if he was doing something physical.  After a moment, I heard a car door shut and a siren in the background.  He spoke above the noise.  “What happened?  You sound really upset.”

“Someone came to see me a few minutes ago.  Remember the guy I mentioned in my interview with the FBI?  Daniel.  The one that left Coventry when I was in eighth grade?”

“Yes.  The one you were so upset about and nearly killed yourself over.  He came to see you?”

“Yes," I hesitated, trying to figure out how much to say, "and he said some pretty frightening things.”

“Like what?  What did he say?  Did he threaten you?  Did he try to hurt you?”

“No, he didn’t try to hurt me, but he said that a group he is involved with isn’t happy with me.  He implied that they might try and hurt me.  It made me think of what the murderer said.  Oh, I don’t know!  He said a lot of things that seem really hard to believe, but it scared me.  I don’t know what to do!  Red told me that I should get home where I’ll be safe.”

“Okay, but I'd like you to wait for me.  I don’t want you going out by yourself.  You’re safer in the building.  Stay on the phone with me.  What else did this guy say to you?  Start at the beginning.”

I blew out an anxious breath and tried to formulate what had happened.  In detail, I relayed what Daniel told me about his involvement with the telepathic organization and how they forcibly recruited him from Coventry.

I elaborated, “You see, a few days before Daniel left school, we discovered that he could insert memories into my head.  He told me that someone at the school noticed, and they came and took him away.”

“And he said that this group isn’t happy with you and they want to hurt you?  What do they want?”  Vince’s voice was agitated.  He was clearly incense/p>

“Daniel told me that his group wants me to stop involving myself with the Circle Murder investigation.”

“He what?  Did he threaten you?”

My eyes roamed around the office and then settled on the door.  I could feel the adrenaline leaking into my system again as I considered Daniel’s warnings.  I remembered how he easily redirected everyone in the office.

“Vince…telepaths are very powerful.  I mean, think about it.  Really, really think about it.”

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds.  “You said that this friend from school…he could alter your memory?”

“Yes.”

“And they can insert false memories?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Vince was silent for another moment.  “They can control you.”

“Yes.  And they can destroy your mind.  He called it a mind wipe.”  I shuddered.

Vince was silent for a long moment, but I could clearly hear road noise in the background.  “Jesus Christ.”

Once again I was on the verge of tears.

“Why do they want you to stay out of the investigation?” he asked.

“That’s where things get a little weird.  To be honest, I’m not too clear on that.  He said that it was because of some kind of prophecy.”

I told Vince about the power of divination and then summarized Daniel's comments about the supposed prophecy.  “They think that if I stay involved in the investigation, I will somehow get tangled up in an event that will…gosh, I don’t know…compromise the secrecy of their organization or something like that.  Ugh!  It's just completely insane!  And then, to make matters worse, something happened that totally freaked him out.  He suddenly told me that it was too late!  He said there was nothing else he could do to help me and they were going to come after me, and then he ran out!”

“You're kidding?  He ran away?  Did anyone else see him?”

I laughed bitterly.  “Yeah, right.  He’s a telepath, remember?  He altered their memories.  Jake, Samantha, and Jack were all standing in the hall when he bolted out of my office.  He pushed right past them!  They were in the hallway and said nothing!  They don’t even remember hearing us argue and me screaming at him.”  I hesitated before continuing, my voice grim, “Vince, if they really want to get me, there’s absolutely nothing that will stop them.  Daniel’s visit here proved that.”

“But you said that you’d be safe in your apartment.”

“Yes.  That’s true, but I can’t stay inside forever and I can’t control what they might do to my friends, my family.  He even suggested that they could enthrall the police into thinking that I’m a criminal!  My apartment is safe, but there are still ways to get to me.”

“Lire…that’s crazy…an entire police force?  Look, don’t worry.  I’m almost to your office.  He’s probably just some lunatic who saw you on the news and remembered you from school.  You knew him a long time ago.  Anything could have happened to him.  Who knows what he’s really like now?”

“I wish you’re right, but he sure didn’t come off like he was crazy.  And how does he know about the murderer’s comments about some group coming after me?  That's not in the news.”

“We’ll sort it out,” he told me.  “I just pulled into the lot.  I’ll be right in.”

I quickly hung up and then hurried out of my office to the ly.  Vince was just walking up to the glass door as I neared Monica’s desk.

Monica looked up at Vince when the door opened.  It was obvious to me that she sat up especially straight in her chair, just to show off her assets.  “Can I help you?”

“He’s here to see me, Monica,” I said from behind her.

She turned around to see me standing just outside of her field of vision.  “Hi, Lire.  I didn’t see you there.  So I guess this is who you were looking for earlier.”  She smiled brightly, directing much of the radiance in Vince's direction.

“Uh, yeah.”

Vince looked puzzled, but before he could say anything, I introduced him to Monica.  They said hello, and I cut short any chitchat by suggesting that he follow me to my office, but Vince paused for a moment at Monica's desk.

He looked down at her with an amiable but serious expression.  “Monica, have you seen anyone you didn't know come in or leave since Lire arrived at work this morning?”

She looked pleased to have Vince's attention.  “Nope.  Just the usual crowd.”

“Did you leave the lobby at any time?” he asked.

She shook her head, and it seemed to me that she deliberately made it slither over a slightly raised shoulder.  It wasn't anything I hadn't seen a hundred times before, but given my current state of agitation, all the provocative gestures made me want to smack her upside the head.

“Um, no, I've been here the whole time.  Is everything okay?  Did a reporter sneak in or something?”  She looked back and forth between Vince and me with a concerned expression and wide eyes.

Vince smiled at Monica, projecting calm.  “That’s what I’m checking out.  Thanks.”

Monica beamed at Vince again, and nodded as we headed to my office.  When we got there, Vince stopped me from closing the door.

“Wait.  Did he touch the door when he came in or when he left?”

I thought about it.  “No.  I don't think so.  The door was open when I got here, but that's not unusual.”  I thought back to the discovery of Daniel in my office.  “He startled me because he was waiting for me, over there, by the window.  The lights were off, so I flicked them on, and that’s when I saw his face.  After he told me who he was, I sat down in my chair and he sat over here, in this chair.”  I pointed to the guest chair that was closest to my desk.

Vince nodded and then closed the door behind us.  When he turned back toward me, I dove into his arms.  He wrapped his arms around me and told me that he was glad I was okay.

I inhaled deeply and acknowledged his words with a small nod of my head.  After a moment, he pushed me away slightly to look into my face.  “I need you to tell me everything, but first, do you remember if he touched anything in here?”

Reluctantly, I pulled completely out of his arms and looked around the room.  “Uh, well, there's the chair of course.”  I motioned at the guest chair.  “But I don’t know if he touched it when he sat down.  I wasn’t really paying attention.”  I looked at Vince helplessly.  “We didn’t close the door, so there won’t be anything on my door knob, but he did run out of here through the lobby’s front door.  I didn’t think to tell people not to use it, so who knows whether any prints are still there.”

“It’s not a door that has a knob.  It’s the type you push, so we probably wouldn’t get anything useful there anyway.”  He turned back to the guest chair.  “So he just sat in the chair here?  Did he haveanything to drink or touch anything else that you can think of?”

"I don’t think so."  I turned toward the window seat.  “Red, what do you think?”

“He just sat in the chair, like you said.  He did not touch anything else.”

Vince got out his notepad and pen.  “Tell me what he looked like.  I’m going to put out an all points on him.  How tall is he?”

I looked at Red and then back at Vince.  “Jeez, well, I don’t know, about five-eleven?  What do you think Red?”

“Yes, he was several inches taller than you.”

I turned to Vince.  “He has a medium build, not bulky but not skinny either.”  I shrugged.  I never realized just how difficult it was to describe someone in detail, especially someone who was only in my office for ten or fifteen minutes.

“Caucasian?” Vince asked.

“Yes.”

“What color hair, eyes?”

“Um, he had light brown hair, straight, tied back in a pony tail, so I'd guess it's around shoulder length.  Nice hairline, not thinning or receding.  Hazel eyes…”  I tried to think of anything else to add.  “Uh, clean shaven, good complexion…”  I shrugged again.

“Any unique facial markings, moles, scars, that kind of thing?  Was he wearing glasses?”

“No glasses and no facial markings that I can remember.”

Vince gestured with the hand holding his pen.  “And you’re certain that this was your friend from school?  Daniel Stockard?”

“Yes.  Well…as certain as I can be after not seeing him for seventeen years.”

Vince seemed surprised.  “How can you be certain at all?”

“Well, he mentioned several things that aren't common knowledge.  And he spoke to me telepathically.”  I looked at Vince intently.  “I’m ninety-nine percent sure it was him, and Red agrees.”

Vince nodded.  “I want to know what he said to you, but in just a minute.  Do you remember what he was wearing?”

I bit my lower lip.  Closing my eyes, I tried to visualize Daniel in my mind.  “He was wearing a dark brown leather jacket and khakis, I think.  He might have had a button down shirt, under the jacket.  I’m sorry.  I should have been paying more attention to stuff like that.”

“It’s okay.  That’s not uncommon.  What about you, Red?  Anything to add to that?”

“His shirt was a plaid of some type and mostly red, I believe.  And he was wearing brown leather boots.”

I remembered suddenly.  “The ring!  I almost forgot.  He had a ring that reminded me of the murderer’s, on the middle finger of his left hand.”  I shook my head.  “That’s when things really got crazy—when I noticed the ring.  It scared the crap out of me.”

Vince looked up sharply.  “You think he was the murderer?”

“No, no.  I freaked out when I saw the ring and started jumping to conclusions, but now that I’ve had time to think about it, I’m sure Daniel isn’t the murderer.  For one thing, their voices don’t match.  I think they have the same ring because they’re both members of this secret society.”  I shrugged.  “Well, that’s my theory, anyway.  It could also be total coincidence that they happen to wear a similar looking signet ring on the same finger of the same hand.”  I cocked an eyebrow at him.

He grunted and jotted down some more notes and then pulled out his cell phone.  “I’m going to call this in.”

“Sure.”

“Don’t touch the chair.  I’ll need to dust it for fingerprints."

I picked up my coat, which was draped across my second guest chair—the slightly wobbly chair that I kept next to the door.  My coat ended up in a heap on the floor, but I didn’t care.  I carefully sat down to wait and listened to Vince’s telephone calls.

Not only did Vince telephone Jensen, but he also placed a second call to Agent Cunningham.  He didn’t mention any speculation about a telepathic hit team, but simply said that I had been threatened with physical harm.  Although I was only privy to one side of the conversation, I got the gist that Cunningham wanted us to meet down at the FBI offices, instead of going straight to my apartment.  I worried about what the secret organization was going to think about me tromping down to the FBI offices again, but knew it was useless to protest.

After Vince dusted both arms of the chair for fingerprints and found nothing, we took his Jeep to the FBI office.  I told him that my car was certainly safer with its armor plating, but Vince’s car had the police radio and emergency lights with siren, and that was the end of the discussion.  He wouldn’t hear of me following behind in my car.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The FBI office was little changed from when I had seen it on Saturday, other than a well lit lobby with receptionist and the general feeling that more people were working in the sea of soft-walled cubicles.  Once again, Vince and I walked to the large conference room with Agent Cunningham.

Wearily, I greeted Agent Cheung, and then Cunningham told us to take a seat.  We ended up, more or less, in our previous positions.  With Jensen absent, Vince sat in the chair immediately to my left.  The microphone and camera tripod were set up and a psi-wrapped water bottle was waiting for me at the head of the table.  The guys spent time fixing coffee for themselves while I invited Red to join us.

As soon as everyone was settled, Cunningham clicked on the video recording without preamble and then asked me to recount my encounter with Daniel.  I started at the beginning, explained how Daniel was waiting for me when I first entered my office, and slowly described our meeting.

Agent Cunningham stopped me almost immediately and asked for a complete description of Daniel, which was easy since it was fresh in my mind from my discussion with Vince.  After I told him everything I could remember about his appearance, I continued my account with occasional comments from Red and frequent questions from Cunningham and Vince.

“And he told you that his group wanted you to stop helping with the Circle Murder investigation?” Cunningham asked.

“Yes, of course, I asked him why.  I just couldn’t understand why a group of telepaths wouldn't want the police to stop a murderer who seems to be only killing psychics.  That’s when I guessed that the warlock was a member of their society, and Daniel didn’t deny it.  The murderer is not just a warlock.  He’s also a telepath.  Daniel made it clear that the members of this society want to capture the murderer, so they can prevent him from spilling the beans about their existence.”  I paused to consider the whole prophecy thing.  “But…Daniel also told me it wasn’t the only reason they want me off the case.  Daniel implied that it’s more to do with some prophecy that his group believes will come true if I continue to help you guys.”

Agent Cunningham’s face looked puzzled.  “A prophecy?”

“Yeah.  Divinatio a rare psychic power.  Almost as rare as telepathy.  A diviner is someone who can foretell the future.  Most often they see the future in their dreams or during trances or sometimes through their drawings or paintings.  Divinations are sometimes convoluted and open to interpretation, but it is a very powerful gift.  According to Daniel this gift is being used by his organization.  He told me that I am somehow entangled in one of the possible futures that they have foreseen.  They want to prevent that…entanglement.”

“So, they are trying to alter the future by forcing you to stay off the case?” Cunningham asked.

“Yes…at least, I think that’s what he meant.  It was all a bit confusing.”

“And he threatened you?  How?” Vince asked.

I repeated the possible consequences that Daniel mentioned.

Cunningham was just as incredulous as Vince had been about police subversion.

He sat back into his chair.  “And what do you think of all this, Ms. Devon?  Do you really believe that there is a secret telepath society out there?  Do you believe they have the ability to do all the things that Daniel threatened?  To be honest, I had always thought that telepathy was a myth.  I’ve heard rumors of the existence of mind readers, but not the ability to alter someone’s thoughts.”

I sighed.  “I don’t know what to think, Agent Cunningham.  All I know is that the possibility terrifies me.  I remember what Daniel did to me back in eighth grade.  He was able to implant an absurd memory into my mind.”  I shook my head.  “If he hadn’t warned me ahead of time about what he planned to do, I never would have been able to distinguish it from a real memory.”  I leaned forward in my chair.  “And I saw what he did to my coworkers.  I heard them coming to help me—their footsteps, their worried voices—and then Daniel closed his eyes and everything went silent.”

Red gestured with his pudgy paw.  “Agent Cunningham, I can tell you myself that there have been many secret organizations throughout history.  Some of them are still around to this day, for both magic users and normal people alike.  In fact, back in my human days, I was a member of a secret society of necromancers.  At that time, the use of magic was driven underground because anyone suspected of having such a skill was at risk of being executed.  I do not find it difficult to believe that there is indeed a secret society of telepaths and diviners in our midst.  It is not uncommon for outcasts to band together for strength and protection.”

“So you believe that Ms. Devon is in danger and the rest of us are helpless subjects of possible mind control?” Cunningham asked.

“Yes.  Although whether or not they will choose to escalate the situation remains to be seen,” Red answered.  “Until now, they have kept to the shadows.  If this group is working to apprehend the murderer prior to the authorities, then they are doing so carefully.  They are aware that any obvious moves against Lire could potentially draw even more attention to their existence.”

“Although they may not all be on the same page about that.  There’s also Lire’s hit-and-run to think about, unless we all think that the accident was just a coincidence,” Vince reminded.

After a moment of silence, Cunningham asked, “So.  Is there anything we can do to protect ourselves against a telepath?”

I shook my head.  “No.  Not for a normal anyway.  Not without the help of magic.  That’s why my apartment is safe.  Extremely powerful wards were put into place during construction and they restrict any hostile magical incursion.  But, outside the war…only a skilled magic user who is practiced with shielding techniques would be able to fight one off.  It would be a battle of wills.  And if there were more than one telepath…well, that would probably be it.”

Cunningham looked doubtful.  "This all sounds completely improbable.  If there really is an organized group of mind controlling telepaths out there, why aren't we living in a world run by psychics right now?”

Red answered, “What makes you think we aren't?  They may very well be manipulating things behind the scenes.  But, that said, Daniel acknowledged that they don't have God-like power.  There are billions more normal people than there are telepaths.  A telepath can control only so many people at a time.  That’s why they want to keep their society a secret.  They are fearful of possible retribution from the government or from society in general.  I believe they have stayed a secret for so long because they have used their skills with restraint and avoided any overuse of their magic.”

Cunningham looked thoughtful and then straightened slightly in his chair.  “We’ve deviated from your account, Ms. Devon.  Please continue.  I believe we were discussing the methods that Daniel said his organization employs.”

I thought back to my encounter with Daniel and told them how I had agreed to back off of the case.  “When Daniel turned to leave, he warned me about not giving them any reason to come after me.  That's when I mentioned the hit-and-run, but Daniel was certain his group had nothing to do with it.”  I shrugged.  “Well, I guess that got me wondering whether the whole thing wasn't just some ruse.  Maybe the person in my office wasn't Daniel after all.  Maybe he was really a complete stranger and the reason he knew so much was because he was associated in some way with the murderer.”  I shook my head sheepishly.  “At that point, I guess I just spiraled out of control and wasn’t really using my head.”

When I told them how I practically jumped out of my skin upon noticing Daniel’s ring, Cunningham perked up.  “What did the ring look like, exactly?”

I cocked my head to the left and tried to visualize it.  “It was a signet ring of some kind—gold, of course—with a square bezel, just like the murderer's. I think it had a design on the face of it, but I didn't notice the detail."  I sighed and shook my head in disgust.  "Once I saw the ring, on the same finger of the same hand…not to mention that it had the same shape…I lost it.  I started jumping to conclusions and not really thinking things through clearly.  I mean…he hadn’t done anything to indicate that he intended to physically harm me, but I totally flipped out anyway.  I practically flew out of my chair and all I could think about was how I needed to defend myself."  I hesitated, "That’s when I remembered the letter opener inside my desk.”

Both Vince and Cunningham looked a bit surprised when I mentioned the letter opener, and I suddenly felt really embarrassed about the whole thing.  Had I done something illegal?

Vince must have noticed my trepidation because he coaxed me, “Lire, you were scared.  Keep going.  Tell us what happened next.”

I pursed my lips together and plunged ahead.  I told them about brandishing the knife and Daniel's strange reaction.  When it came time to tell them about the levitation, I hesitated.  Agent Cunningham regarded me with a friendly, imploring expression.

I faltered, “Well, uh, instead of attacking me or something, Daniel told me that…well…he told me that I had just levitated the knife into my hand.”  I shook my head emphatically.  “I just couldn’t believe it.  I didn’t remember doing anything of the sort.  I was still pretty upset about thinking he was the murderer.  But then Red told me that I had levitated the knife, and Daniel was clearly horrified.”

Distressed, I sighed loudly and wrapped my arms around myself.  I averted my eyes, deliberately avoiding the looks of the three men.  “Well, that scared me too…I dropped the knife and sat down next to Red.  Daniel started acting really upset—not violent, just really, really distressed—which is understandable since I had just done something…uh…well, something totally effing abnormal.  But then he started saying that there was nothing else he could do to help me.  It was part of the prophecy, or something."  I threw up my hands, completely agitated.  "Ugh!  I don’t know!  I still don’t totally understand how this prophecy figures into things, but he told me that I was on my own.  He said he wished that he hadn’t seen me do the levitation thing and that his organization would find out now.  He basically implied that I was screwed and then took off.”

Cunningham asked, “And this thing with the letter opener, this levitation, you weren’t aware that you had done it?”

I shook my head no and my eyes darted self-consciously between the three men.

Agent Cunningham was puzzled.  “And you believe that act caused him to flee?  Why was it so shocking?  You are both psychics.  Why would that cause him to get so upset?”

Agent Cheung spoke up for the first time, and his voice was surprisingly forceful considering his slight appearance.  “Psychics never have more than one gift.  It would be like you suddenly waking up with an extra arm.”

Cunningham looked mystified.  “Okay, so what Ms. Devon did was extremely unusual—”

Agent Cheung was immediate in his correction.  “Not unusual, Agent Cunningham, completely unprecedented.  My analogy was not an exaggeration.”  His demeanor remained impassive, but I sensed an undercurrent of unease in his voice.

Cunningham sighed and nodded at Agent Cheung.  “Okay, unprecedented.”  He returned his gaze to me and said, “But you implied that his reaction was not just to the levitation.  You said he mentioned the prophecy again?”

I nodded while I struggled with my emotions.  Agent Cheung’s response, although well controlled, was unsettling.  My voice trembled slightly.  “Yeah.  He indicated that my levitation was part of the prophecy.  He told me that he wished that he hadn’t seen me do it, that they would find out about it.  And he said something like, ‘God help you when they do.’”  I shuddered.

“And he ran out of your office after that?” Vince asked.

“Yes.  He said that he didn’t think there was anything else he could do to help me.  I asked him why this changed things, and he told me that his superiors wanted to get to me before the crossroads.  He implied that the levitation thing meant that they had missed their chance.”  I shrugged.

Cunningham shifted in his chair and tapped the end of his pen on the notepad in front of him.  “You said he did something to your coworkers.  Did they see Daniel, either coming or going?”

“No, and he ran right past them.  If he hadn't altered their thoughts, there is no possible way they could have missed him.”

Vince regarded Cunningham.  “On my way in, I asked the receptionist whether she had seen anyone unusual come in or out of the building, but she said no.  I didn’t speak with anyone else.  I also dusted the arms of Lire’s guest chair, but came up empty.  According to Lire and Red, he didn't touch anything else.”

Cunningham nodded at the new information and wrote something down in his notebook.  “Ms. Devon, after this incident, did you ask any of your coworkers whether they had seen Daniel or heard your argument?”

I shook my head and snorted.  “No.  I didn’t bother.  I know they heard me yelling at Daniel.  That's why they came running.  When Daniel ran past on his way out, Jack, Jake and Samantha were waiting in the hallway.  The three of them were just standing there, blank faced, when I ran out of my office in hot pursuit.  If Daniel hadn't altered their minds, they would have been distressed and worried about why I had been screaming.  And they would have tried to stop Daniel.  They would have acted a lot differently.  So I knew it was useless to even ask.”

“So, you went back to your office and that’s when you telephoned Detective Vanelli?” Cunningham asked.

“Yes.”

Cunningham paused and then discreetly looked at Cheung, who nodded subtly in return.  I knew without asking that Agent Cheung had just verified the truth of my words.

Cunningham looked at Red.  "Red, do you have anything to add?"

Red replied, "No.  Lire has covered all the important points.  It happened exactly as she described."

Cunningham shifted his gaze to my face.  “Then I'd say the chance of apprehending Mr. Stockard would likely be slim to none.”  He sighed.  “I’ll put out the all points for his detention anyway.  I wouldn’t mind speaking with Mr. Stockard about this incident myself.  Who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky.”  He sounded doubtful.

“What about Lire?” Vince asked after a moment.

“I don’t suppose there’s any way you can work from home for the time being?” Cunningham ventured.  “I will speak with our resident magic users.  Maybe we can come up with something that will offer some protection.  But it seems to me that, out of all of us, Ms. Devon and possibly Agent Cheung are the only ones capable of protecting themselves from a telepath…if I understood correctly.”

I nodded.  “I can check with my own contacts as well, but I can tell you that a talisman won’t come cheaply.  A ward of this nature will take quite a bit of time and energy to create, and it has to be imprinted on the person it's supposed to shield.  You can’t just buy a box of them and then hand them out to all your employees like pocket protectors.”

For the first time, I heard Agent Cheung chuckle.  Cunningham grunted with amusement.

“It can never be simple, can it?” Vince muttered.

Agent Cunningham clicked something on his computer and then looked over at Vince and me.  “I’ll send someone to Ms. Devon’s office to check things out.  Detective Vanelli, go ahead and take Ms. Devon back to her apartment.  Find out what you can about possible wards and check back with me later.”

I tried not to mope.  I was happy to spend more time around Vince, but the circumstances left a lot to be desired.

We said our goodbyes, and then Vince led the way to the building’s elevators.  A few people from higher floors were already in the car.  While we traveled downward, I wondered what their jobs were.  Two of them didn't seem like agent types.  Maybe they were administrators or executive assistants.  I noticed that Vince surreptitiously scrutinized all of them, even though we had agreed that an escalation of the situation was unlikely.

The elevator made several stops before we finally emerged into the parking garage, unaccompanied.  The chill in the air made me shiver as we began walking down the aisle toward Vince’s Jeep.

“You okay?” Vince asked while he fumbled in his coat pocket for his keys.

Lost in thought, I shook myself and glanced over at him.  “Yeah.  It was just so warm in there, so it feels chilly down here.”

Ahead of us, a car door closed, and we both looked down the aisle to see a person walking in our direction.  After a moment, we both recognized Jensen.

“Hey, Jensen,” Vince called.

Jensen appeared to be distracted and didn’t immediately respond to Vince’s hail.  I smiled when I realized that he was whistling Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah.

“Jensen, you meeting with Cunningham?”  Vince's voice echoed inside the enclosed space.

I wondered briefly, whether Jensen was wearing headphones.  He still hadn’t acknowledged Vince’s greeting or focused on our approach, even though we were close enough to see one another readily.

Vince chuckled and mumbled something about Jensen using the wireless earpiece on his cell phone.  “Hello!  Jensen!”  He waved his hand to get Jensen’s attention.

Suddenly, I understood the cause of Jensen’s unusual behavior.  I hastened my shield to maximum, just as a powerful incursion tried to force its way into my mind.  With a cry, I fell to my knees and channeled all of my power and concentration into maintaining the force of my shield.

“Jen—”  Vince was obviously interrupted by my sudden collapse and cry of agony.  “Lire!”

I sensed that Vince had bent down next to me.  “Lire, what’s wrong?  Rich, where are you going?”  Vince was clearly mystified as to why Jensen continued to ignore us, in spite of my distress.

I felt Red force his way out of my purse.  Clasping my hands to the sides of my head, I shrieked, “No!”

It took all of my concentration to keep the intruder out of my head.  I couldn't say a thing, even though I wanted to yell at Vince to run away.  There was safety in numbers and it was imperative that he get back to the FBI office as quickly as possible.  Frustratingly, I could do little except grunt from the physical exertion and mental pain of the telepath’s attack.

“She is being assailed by a telepath!” Red exclaimed.  “We need to get her out of here!”

Red, no!  I tried to yell at Vince to run, but every time I made the attempt, my concentration slipped and I had to fight to regain the strength of my shield.  At the most, I was able to leave a small part of my consciousness aware of my surroundings, but that was all.

Red shouted, “Get her back to the elevator!  Follow Lieutenant Jensen.  Our only option is to find safety upstairs.  Do it!”

I felt Vince grab me under the arms and drag me backwards.  I could do nothing to help him and forced myself to remain limp.  There was no way I could devote the energy to standing and walking.

“Lire, help me!”

“She cannot!  Don’t disturb her concentration!  She needs all of her focus and energy to keep them out of her mind,” Red scolded.

Vince struggled with my body and, over his exertions, grunted, “Where are they?  Are they down here?”

“Yes, almost certainly.”

“Then as soon as I get Lire to the elevator, I’m going after them.”

Arg!  What was the matter with him?  Wasn't he paying attention earlier?  There was no way he had any hope of going up against a telepath, never mind more than one.  Dismally, I knew there were at least two telepaths in the vicinity because one was attacking me and the other had attacked Jensen.

I was about to risk ordering Vince to stay with us when the psychic attack redoubled.  Now I was fighting the effort of two telepaths, probably because the second telepath no longer needed to redirect Jensen.  The tentative grasp I held on my surroundings vanished, and my entire focus was driven at keeping the foreigners out of my mind.

The pain was shocking.  I never realized that a forceful psychic entry could be so painful.  When Daniel and I played the power game as kids, his attempted incursions never caused me pain, presumably because I knew it was safe to let him break through.  I always cried uncle when his probes got too strong for my shield.  But this was no friendly psychic game.  These telepaths were malicious.  Their incursion not only threatened my memories and thoughts, but my life as well.  And I’d be damned if I’d let them inside!

Surprisingly, I felt a weakening of the attack as one of the telepaths withdrew from my mind.  Taking the opportunity to thrust a spike of energy into the remaining telepath’s presence, I was rewarded.  My shield was able to push him away slightly.  Once again, I was aware of my surroundings, although, I didn't risk opening my eyes.

“Were you trying to go back upstairs?”  A malignant voice came from somewhere to my right.

I was aware that Vince no longer supported my weight.  I seemed to be lying on my side on the cold ground.

“What are you going to do, Detective?  Shoot an unarmed man?”

Vince's voice was steadfast.  “No witnesses.  I might just do that.  Thanks for the suggestion.”

“My.  You are a cocky one.  You obviously have no idea who you are dealing with.  Maybe we will have to tell you all about it.”  The voice chuckled.  “Lire could tell you, but she doesn’t look like she’s feeling up to it right now.”

Oooh!  The urge to scream like a banshee and pound that voice right into the pavement was overwhelming, but I quelled the reckless impulse.  As soon as my concentration wavered, I knew the other telepath would waste no time in penetrating my defenses.  My anger smoldered while I continued to focus on keeping the remaining telepath out of my mind.

An unsettling silence ensued, mostly because my eyes were closed and I was unable to see what was going on.  After a few moments, Vince retorted, “Yes…I’m waiting.  You were going to tell me about just who I’m dealing with?”

I got the feeling that something was wrong because the probe into my mind withdrew.  After a moment, I tentatively opened my eyes and saw a man with mousy brown hair standing about ten feet away.  He was wearing a tightly belted black raincoat, black gloves, and grey slacks.  His furtive scowl was directed at something to my right and it made his already narrow face look even more like a rodent.

I remained prone as I thought madly about my available options.  I was determined to help Vince, but I didn’t have any weapons at my disposal.  Even if I did, I’d never handled a gun in my life.  My first encounter with wielding a weapon was in my office earlier when I drew the letter opener on Daniel, hardly a stellar experience.  Anyway, Vince had a weapon and it was useless, unless he wanted to shoot an unarmed man.

To evaluate further, I decided to risk sitting up while continuing to channel all of my energy into the strength of my shield.

Vince was standing behind me and to my right, presumably so that he could observe the two telepaths.  Currently, the gun was trained on a man nearest the elevator, who was looking back at Vince with a strained and fierce expression.  He was fat and completely bald with thick lips and blunt features.  His thick, camel-colored wool coat only added to his sausage-like appearance.

Not feeling terribly predisposed toward liking either telepath, I decided to call the fat one 'Sausage-Man' and the one in the trench coat 'Rat-Face'.  At least, in my head.

Rat-Face glanced down at me momentarily before turning back to look at Sausage-Man.  I sensed that they were both puzzled by something and perhaps a little bit worried.

Vince ordered, “Okay.  I’ve had enough of this.  You both are under arrest.  Put your hands on your head.  Now!”

Instead of complying with Vince’s command, Sausage-Man chuckled.  “Why?  We simply inquired as to whether you were trying to go upstairs.  You plan on arresting us for that?  I think your friends at the FBI will be wondering what has gotten into you, Detective.”  As I expected, his was the menacing voice I had heard moments earlier, while I was occupied by the other telepath.

“I guess we’ll find out when we get there, won’t we?”  Vince was implacable.

“Vince.  Don’t go there.  Please.  Trust me.”

I knew that if we all trooped back upstairs with the two telepaths in tow, things would not go well.  In fact, the telepaths were bound to alter the situation to their advantage and discredit anything Vince or I could possibly say.  Or worse…all the agents carrying weapons sprang to mind.  I was sure that it wouldn’t take much prodding of minds to have an accidental sidearm discharge in my general direction, especially if the telepaths were feeling forced into a corner.

“What?  You want me to let them go?”

“Yes.  I’ll explain later.”

Sausage-Man turned his gaze on me.  “Lire, you have won this round, but don’t let it go to you head.  You won’t always have the protection of your Daoine friend.”

Shocked by that parting comment, I watched from the ground as the two men turned and walked toward the doorway leading to the stairs.  When I was sure they had gone, I stood up, but continued to vigilantly maintain my shield just in case.

“Why did you tell me to let them go?” Vince demanded.

I scooped up Red onto my shoulder and began walking quickly toward Vince’s car.  “Didn’t you notice what they had done to Jensen?  If you had hauled them up to Agent Cunningham, they would have used the situation to their advantage.  They would have come out of it looking all the innocent and we would have looked like the criminals.”  I couldn’t help looking back over my shoulder.  “We need to get to my apartment.  Then we can figure out what to do.”

Once Vince was driving toward my apartment building, I was able to relax my shield slightly, but I was still too wound up to do anything except keep a watchful eye out the windows.

Vince broke the silence.  “What did he call me?  Your deenie friend?  What does that mean?”

I looked up sharply at the reminder of the telepath’s parting words.

“Daoine.”  I spelled the word for him.  “It’s a Gaelic word.  Directly translated, it means people, I think.  Although, that’s not how he meant it.”  I hesitated because my mind was swimming with the implications.

Vince glanced over at me quickly.  “Then what did he mean?”

I sighed.  “I think he meant Daoine Sidhe.”

“Deenie shee?  What’s that?”

His pronunciation wasn't exactly right, but it was close enough.

From his perch on the dashboard, Red answered, “People of the mound.  They are the most ancient of the races and rarely seen.  Our world became uninhabitable to them not long after humans began to populate the Earth.  At least, that's the story I was told.  Our worlds are closely linked, however.  On certain days and at certain locations, they have the ability to visit, so sightings aren't completely unknown.  In my three hundred plus years, I have only seen two.”  Red seemed wistful, but then continued directly.  “Perhaps you will better know them by their colloquial English name:  Elves.  Some people call them the Fae, but that word actually encompasses several races, including the Daoine Sidhe.”

“Okay.  Then why did he call me that?  I’m certainly no elf.”

Vince wasn’t going to want to hear what I had to say, so I remained silent.  My eyes stayed glued to the road ahead while my mind whirled over this most recent revelation and the rest of the day’s extraordinary events.

Vince, never one for a mystery, pursued the issue.  “Do I look like an elf or something?  I don’t have pointy ears—that’s for sure.”

Red scoffed, "One famous example and the entire human population thinks all the Sidhe have pointy ears."  He sighed.  "True, they have a striking appearance, but it is more to do with their stature and luminous complexion.  However, it is possible to be part elven and not display any outward indication of such bloodline."

“What?  You think I’m an elf!  Or…or part elf!  That’s a laugh!”

Red said what I was unwilling to say.  “I know nothing of your bloodline, Detective, although, it does offer a possible explanation as to why you are not affected by Lire’s magic.  The Daoine Sidhe are rumored to possess a variety of magical abilities.  Being able to block some forms of magic may be one of them.”

Vince laughed heartily.  “You’re serious?  You seriously think that I’m part elf?”

“I merely said it was a possibility.  The telepath obviously believes that you are at least part elven.  I can think of no other reason for his remark.”

“Ridiculous!”

Red continued, resolute, “Ridiculous or not, it saved Lire’s life or, at the very least, her mind.  They were not able to alter your thoughts, so their plans to subvert the two of you failed.  Instead of risk their anonymity, they decided to try again when Lire is less protected.”

Vince shook his head and snorted, but refrained from arguing further.  There was no denying that I had survived the encounter unharmed, and Vince’s intervention was solely responsible.  Despite the powerful assault, I survived only because their attack was not sustained.  If the telepaths had been able to divert Vince from being a physical threat, I would have been at their mercy.  My shield would not have held up indefinitely.  Eventually they would have broken through and raped my mind.

Vince glanced at me.  “So, the reason Jensen totally ignored us and got into the elevator is because the telepaths removed us from his thoughts?”

“Yes, and thank God he happened to show up right when we were leaving.  If I didn’t have that early warning, then they may have been able to enter my mind.  When I realized why Jensen was ignoring us, I put all of my energy into my psychic shield just before one of them attacked.”

He sighed.  “Well, I’m glad you’re okay, whatever the reason.”

We waved at Chet, who was warmly enscoed inside his heated security booth, and pulled into my apartment building’s underground parking.  Relieved at making it to safety, I blurted, “Finally!”

“You’re certain about the safety measures?  Even in the garage?”  Vince's eyes scoured our surroundings.

“Yes.  The wards encompass the perimeter of the building.  They were built into the foundation.  No magical attack can penetrate them.  Anything else is handled by our house djinn or the armed guards.”

“Gin?  What’s that?”

“Djinn…you know…genie?”

“No way.  You mean like Aladdin or I Dream of Jeannie?”

I snorted.  “Hardly.  That would be like comparing a housefly to a fire-breathing dragon.  But that’s a topic for another time.  Let’s get inside.”

I got out of the car and walked confidently with Vince to the elevator.  I noticed that Vince deliberately walked so that his body blocked my view to the outside.  I smiled inwardly at his protectiveness.

While we were waiting for the elevator car to come down, Vince vigilantly scanned the surroundings.  “How do you know the wards and these djinn really work?”

I shrugged.  “Well, it's what I was told when I bought my place.  The impregnable security is a key selling feature, and we all paid a premium for it.  We still do—there are monthly fees we all pay.  Anyway, when I moved into my apartment, I was introduced to the djinn.  Trust me…they’re, uh, very impressive.”

I omitted telling Vince about how I am blood-bound to the two djinn and, along with the rest of the building’s owners, their master.  Djinn are not of our world.  In order for them to stay on earth they must bind themselves to a mortal human in servitude.  Of course, that doesn’t mean that they will do anything they are told.  Just because they are bound servants, doesn’t mean they're slaves.  Strict rules govern the compact to prevent any misuse of their abilities for evil or material gain.

Vince examined me.  “What’s so impressive about them?  Are you certain the telepaths can’t alter their thoughts?”

The elevator finally dinged and I got ready for the doors to open.  I knew we were totally safe, but I liked the idea of being inside my apartment better than being out in the open.  I wasn’t absolutely sure that the djinn would be able to save me from a well-placed bullet, and I didn’t really want to test the theory.

I answered, “Well, for one, the djinn would have to be outside of the perimeter wards for that to be a possibility, and, two, they’re not susceptible to magical influences anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Uh-huh.”  Vince sounded doubtful, but remained silent.

Once inside the empty elevator car, Vince pressed the top button.

Red spoke from his perch on my shoulder.  “Lire, you should alert the djinn.  If they are aware of the situation, they will be better able to serve you.”

I made a sour face.  Red knew very well that I wasn’t comfortable interacting with the djinn.  They scared me, to be honest, and I had only summoned them on one occasion if you don’t count the day of the binding ritual.  I knew, however, that most of the other tenants enjoyed a friendly relationship with the two otherworldly entities and frequently called on them for help around their apartments.  I don’t know, maybe some of my fellow neighbors had more experience dealing with magical entities, but I just couldn’t see asking a powerful being like a djinn to change a light bulb.  The one occasion I did call for their help was when my washing machine overflowed.  I was frantic.  I didn’t want the water to damage my hardwood floors or downstairs neighbor’s ceiling.

Red was persistent.  “It is also possible that they will have some useful information pertaining to your current dilemma.”

“Okay Red, I get the message.”  I did not relish the thought of contacting either one of the djinn, not to mention both at the same time, but Red was right.

When we got inside my apartment, all I wanted to do was crawl under my down comforter, but there were things that had to be addressed, like contacting the djinn and calling a neighbor or two to find out about ward possibilities.

I deliberately procrastinated by making a fresh pot of coffee.  After Vince used the bathroom, I listened while he telephoned Cunningham to tell him about our encounter with the two telepaths.  I think we both sighed with relief when it was apparent that Cunningham’s mindset had not changed since we left his office.  Jensen had indeed arrived to see Cunningham about five minutes after our departure and was shocked by Vince’s story.  Thank goodness I remembered the tune Jensen was whistling down in the parking garage; otherwise, Vince may have had a more difficult time convincing Jensen that his mind had been altered.  It was the only proof I could think of that offered some credibility to our story.  Since I didn’t actually hear Cunningham’s or Jensen’s voice, I had no idea whether they seemed convinced by Vince’s account.  It sounded farfetched even to me, so I had reason to worry.

Vince wrapped up the conversation with Jensen by telling him that we were going to be checking into possible magic wards that might help against further psychic attacks.

After Vince hung up, I looked at him dubiously.  “So, I guess the understatement of the year is that Jensen was pretty surprised by that one, huh?”

“Yeah.”  Vince shrugged.  “But knowing how much I used to discount this magic stuff, I think he was more inclined to believe me.”

I smiled.  “So your previous magi-phobia was actually an advantage to us.”

He snorted and gave a curt nod.

“Speaking of phobias,” Red interjected, “Lire, you need to call upon the djinn.”

I rolled my eyes.  “I do not have a phobia.  They just…make me uncomfortable.”

Red continued to look at me expectantly.

“Oh, all right!”

I put down my half finished mug of coffee and strode to the middle of the family room.  It didn’t seem right to call on the two immortal beings from sitting at my kitchen table, although, the family room didn’t seem quite right either.  I wondered at what possible location such a calling would feel appropriate—a medieval temple?  A desolate, windswept hilltop?  No, no…Stonehenge.  Yeah, Stonehenge.  I was about to say as much to Red, but stopped myself.  He’d just say that I was stalling, and he’d be right.

I sighed loudly and focused on my task.  My voice rang out clearly, “Maya and Tanu come to my side.  Maya and Tanu come to my aid.  Maya and Tanu come to me of your own free will.”

I really don’t know what possessed me to call the two beings in such a manner.  The words just sort of tumbled out of my mouth.  Actually, it was only necessary to say their names three times in close succession, but, just as it didn’t seem right to call them from my kitchen table, somehow it didn’t seem quite right to simply call out their names multiple times as though I was hailing a taxi.

“Could it be that the blood-bound Lidoes not believe that the djinn have free will?” a voice sounded in front of me as a swirling mist began to form where the voice had originated.

A second voice, equally precise in its deliberate pronunciation of each word, said, “Is it because of this belief that she feels it is necessary to grant the djinn free will upon her calling?”

Two nebulous balls of smoky mist gradually coalesced into two vaguely humanoid forms possessed with disturbing eyes.  Their bright eyes swirled counter-clockwise, like the great red spot on Jupiter; except these miniature storms swirled, not with red, but silver and gleamed frantically, like molten metal.

I knew that the djinn had the ability to transform their appearance into whatever form they chose.  Whenever their duties took them down into the public spaces of the building, they appeared totally indistinguishable from the other human guards.  Why they did not present themselves in totally human forms at the moment, I didn't know.

“Does the Lire speak?” the first voice asked.

Momentarily befuddled by their strange habit of addressing me as though I weren’t in the room, I stood silently.  Finally, I shook myself and focused on the one that just spoke.  “Of course, I can speak.”

“If it were up to the Lire, would she grant the djinn free will in all things?” the second form asked as it swirled around its counterpart.

I hesitated before responding. “Within certain parameters…yes.”

“That the djinn do not have free will…this bothers the Lire?” the first djinn asked.

Was that Maya or Tanu? I wondered.  There was no way to attribute a name to the voice.  In this form, they looked the same and had nearly identical voices.

“It bothers me, yes.”

“But the other blood-bound have no such problem.  Why does it bother the Lire and not the others?”

They had swirled around each other several times, so now I didn’t know whether this was the first voice or the second voice.  I sighed as I resigned myself to the perpetual confusion of dealing with the alien entities.

I replied to both, “I don’t know why I'm in the minority.  I guess I don’t feel comfortable calling upon you to do whatever menial task comes to mind.  You are not slaves.  You have the job of protecting us from harm, not to serve our every whim, unless, of course, that aid is freely given.”

“Does the Lire feel that the other blood-bound take advantage?”

I considered the question.  “If they treat you like another neighbor, then probably not.  With neighbors there is give and take, and we can say no if we are not comfortable with whatever request is made of us.  But there is always that relationship of give and take.  I know that when I ask a favor of a neighbor, they may ask me for something in return.  Most people will not take advantage because of this notion.”  I shook my head.  “Am I making sense?  I’m sorry, it’s not something that I’ve ever had to explain.”

“The djinn understand the Lire’s words.  It is not a notion that the djinn share.  The Lire does not know the djinn world.  If the Lire knew that world, then maybe she will understand why the notion of free will is misplaced.”

One of the forms moved closer to me.  “Will the Lire take a brief journey with the djinn?”

I looked surprised.  “What?  You mean travel to your world?  Right now?”

“Yes,” they said at once.

Their eyes regarded me steadily, swirlindisks of liquid silver, but I detected no malice in spite of their alien appearance.  They were blood-bound to protect me from all harm, so I knew what they proposed was probably completely safe, but I was still uneasy.

I nodded, finally.  “I will go with you.  We won't be too long, will we?”

“No.  For those entities in the room, the Lire's essence will be gone only moments.”

I briefly wondered how Vince felt about being called an entity before considering the djinn's other words.  “My essence?  You mean my body will stay here?  How does this work?”  My uneasiness ramped up a notch.

“Yes, the Lire body will be safe here.  Her inside self will travel.  The djinn will keep both safe.  The Lire need not worry.”

I took a deep breath and stiffly nodded toward the djinn.  At my acknowledgement, the two strange beings silently floated toward me.  They had never before been in such close proximity, and my stomach clenched with apprehension.  Nervously, I stood and watched as they positioned themselves, one on each side of me.  Nebulous arms formed and separated from their bodies to link around me, like they were about to play an otherworldly game of ring-around-the-rosy.  Their forms drew closer as they tightened the ring.  Where they came into contact with my body, I felt a cool but not unpleasant sensation.

Before I had the chance to ask what they were doing, the earth shifted beneath my feet and a wave of nausea replaced the knot of nervous jitters in my stomach.  My brightly lit living room blinked out of existence and was replaced by something…other.

The first thing I noticed was my body.  I could still see, so I had eyes.  When I looked down, I saw my body and my feet were seemingly planted on a firm surface, although, the surface had a strange aspect to it.  Even stranger were my surroundings.  What I saw wasn't something that could be described as a place, but I got the distinct impression that it was a destination of sorts.  The atmosphere had a shimmery quality to it, as if my eyes were blurred by water or sleep.  I waited for the place to resolve into something describable, but nothing immediately materialized.  The place was empty and hollow.

I felt the djinn's pull upon my body, which was followed by another bout of nausea because the movement was not natural—my body wasn't physically moving.  The unnatural feeling was compounded by the way the insubstantial surroundings didn't promote any visual explanation for the feeling of movement.

“Is this your world?” I forced out.  I half expected the sound of my voice to be swallowed by the strange nothingness of our location.

“No.  This is what the Lire's kind calls the Between.  Limbo, if the Lire likes.  Others call it Purgatory.  There are many human names for this place, but few actually return to the Lire's world to describe it.”

The djinn's misty forms had merged together and were less substantial than how they appeared in my living room, but I felt both of their presences quite distinctly and they never lost contact with me.

“Why am I still in my body?  I thought you said that only my essence was traveling with you.”

“The Lire's essence brings with it many things.  The human body is how the Lire perceives her essence.  For now.”

I nodded numbly and continued to observe my surroundings.  There was a familiarity, a sense of déjà vu, but before I could unravel the mystery, everything changed.  Suddenly, I was thrust into a world absent of light and no longer aware of having a body.  It was a frigid environment, although, the constant cold did not adversely affe me.  I sensed many other entities with me in the darkness, along with Maya and Tanu, and we moved effortlessly through each other’s awareness, like feathers or clouds floating on a gentle breeze.  It was a peaceful world that was totally devoid of the boisterousness of life.  My essence drifted among the strange population, and I felt delight in each contact, but it wasn't enough to distract my mind from the complete absence of sights, sounds, and warmth.  The more I tried to ignore the lack of stimulus, the more I seemed to crave the cacophony of life and yearn for the return to my own world.

There was no way to communicate my strong desire to depart since I no longer possessed a body.  I briefly panicked at the thought of being trapped.  The two djinn, however, must have sensed my distress because I felt their essences immediately respond to my need.  After a moment, we were back in the place they had called the Between, and my body felt entirely too small to fit the incredible volume of emotions, thoughts, and questions running through my mind.  It didn't help that the strangeness of the Between made me feel nauseous.

“Stop, please.  I need to catch my breath.”

“The djinn cannot, for the safety of the Lire.  The Between is not the place to linger without training.  It is too easy for the Lire to get lost.”

With one last surge of invisible momentum, the world shifted back into place.  When I opened my eyes, I was lying down on the wood floor.  The light stung my eyes and the warmth scalded my skin, but I was grateful for the sensations.  I sat up quickly to look for the djinn.

“Lire!  Are you okay?”  Vince was kneeling next to me and looked at my face with concern.

I stood up with his help and was hardly able to contain my elation.  “Yes!  More than okay!  That was absolutely incredible!”

Energized by my new understanding, I moved eagerly toward the two djinn and held out my hands.  Instantly, their insubstantial bodies surrounded me.  I laughed while they swirled around me faster and faster and squeaked with surprise when they lifted me high into the air.  They carried me twenty feet up, to the cross-braces of the ceiling, and we twirled through the air as though it were water.  My stomach fluttered like crazy and it was a familiar but, at the same time, completely foreign feeling.  It was the most amazing experience of my life and one that I will never forget.

After a few moments of sheer pleasure, I remembered my current dilemma.  Reluctantly, I urged the djinn back down to earth.

“Does the Lire now understand?” the right-hand djinn asked.

I breathed happily.  “I do.  This world is such amazing pleasure, no matter what you are asked to do.  Everything is life…and light…and warmth…and delight!  You do have free will.  You choose to be here—with us.”

“Yes,” they responded in unison, clearly pleased.

The right-hand djinn floated close.  “The Lire’s essence has changed.  Does the Lire know this?”

I touched my face impulsively.  “My essence?  It has?  Because of our trip?  What do you mean?”

“No.  The visit does not change the essence.  The Lire's essence was different before the visit.  The djinn see all the human essences.  The Lire is not the same human that was blood-bound.  The blood is the same, but the essence is different.  Does the Lire understand?”

I looked puzzled.  “I’m not sure.”

“The Lire is one in body, but four in essence.  Is the Lire not aware of these other energies flowing inside?  It is most unusualheight="6pt" width="1em">My mind flickered to the memory of talking with Jason on the porch swing.

The other djinn floated next to the first.  “One of memory, one of movement, one of ice, and one of fire.  We see them all.”

I looked back and forth between the two djinn.  “Yes.  Jason, Patty, and Trinity.  Their memories have altered my essence?  What does that mean?”

“The Lire’s essence shows the djinn her powers.”

“My powers…”  My mind spiraled.  Powers—plural.  “No!  You don’t mean…all three of them?  I have more than just their memories?”  I suddenly found it difficult to breathe.  “Are you…saying that I have their powers too?  All of them?  All three?”

“Did the Lire not just fly with with the djinn?”

My mind rebelled at the notion.  “But…I thought you did that!”

Finally, it dawned on me—the bizarre fluttery feeling—it was familiar.  I remembered that same feeling when I was nearly run over by the car and in my dreams with Jason.  The strange fluttering feeling was how it felt to be levitated.

Oh God!  I might have figured it out sooner, but that possibility was so incredible that it wasn't something I remotely considered.

“The djinn did not.  Why does this bother the Lire?”  The nearest djinn was obviously puzzled.

I was too busy hyperventilating to answer.  “I…I…ugh…”  I dropped to my knees and struggled for breath.

Vince was crouched down at my side in a heartbeat. “Lire, calm down.  You’re going to pass out.  Slow down.  Deep breaths.”

As I struggled, a tendril of vapor from the closest djinn’s form reached gently toward my mouth.  In too much distress to consider avoiding it, I allowed the mist to enter my lungs.  Immediately, I felt a calming influence radiate from the center of my body, and my breathing became steady.  When I was completely relaxed, the djinn drew back its tenuous appendage.  Because it seemed appropriate, I murmured a raspy thank you.

“The Lire is a puzzle to us,” the farthest djinn commented.  “The djinn have learned that to be human is to crave power.  Yet the Lire is troubled by such acquired power.  Why is this so?”

Red countered with a question of his own.  “But haven’t you also found that it is human nature to desire acceptance?”

The djinn seemed to pause in thought.  “Yes, the djinn know this about humans, but always power brings acceptance.  Is this not so?”

“Generally speaking, that is true, but when it comes to humans who are in the minority, most of the time that power is met with resistance and hatred by the majority and is stamped out,” Red replied.

“Yes, the djinn have witnessed this,” the nearest djinn said, and then the second added, “But, overall, it is better to have power than to not.”

“Sometimes,” Red admitted, “But because of this power, Lire is in danger.”

“Ah, yes.  This is why the Lire called upon the djinn, is it not?”

I looked up at the two misty forms.  “Yes.  I called for your help because I’ve been attacked by two telepaths.  A friend has told me that they believe I am a threat to their organization.  About an hour ago, they tried to break through my shield, and their intent was not friendly.  They meant to destroy my mind, even though I have offered them no harm.  If what you have told me about my new powers is true, then…then that must be why they want to wipe my mind or mi all together.”

“What is it that the Lire desires the djinn to do?” the nearest one asked.

I sighed.  It all seemed so futile.  The djinn could only offer me their protection while I was inside the building.  There was nothing they could do once I ventured out of their confines.

“I thought it was important to let you know of my…predicament.  Be on your guard, not just for me, but for my friends and neighbors as well.  Other than that I guess there’s not much more you can do.”

The second djinn floated closer so that it was next to the first.  “The djinn already protect the blood-bound Lire, as do the structure’s wards.  Nothing will harm the Lire or her friends while they dwell with the djinn.”

I nodded bleakly, and Red asked, “If you please, do you know of any wards for the body that may offer Lire protection from a telepathic attack when she is on the outside?”

“Wards of this type are possible.  Speak with the blood-bound Claude.  The Claude knows this type of magic.  The Claude may tell you much, but there is one closer still who may provide such help.  Is the Lire not aware?” the left-hand djinn inquired.

I stood up as Vince offered his hand for support.  “Huh?  Closer than Claude?  You mean another neighbor?  I’m sorry.  I don’t know who you mean.”

The right-most djinn swirled around and insinuated itself between Vince and me.  A misty tendril swept over Vince.  “This is the one.  This one has ancient blood.  This one has the power to help.  Did the Lire not know?”

I heard Vince grumble, “Not this again.  Now you’re telling me that I’m an elf?”

The djinn swirled around Vince, leaving a trail of smoky wisps that dissipated quickly.  It circled Vince once and then floated back to its companion.  “Ah.  The djinn understand.  This one denies the truth.  This one locks away the power.  The Lire must go to the Claude.”

Vince folded his arms stubbornly across his chest and glowered.  I wanted to ask the djinn more about Vince’s powers, but restrained my curiosity for later when Vince was not around.  He obviously wasn’t ready to examine the possibility that his bloodline was somehow in question.  I sympathized.  It was best to let it simmer for now.

“I will speak with Claude.  Thank you, Maya and Tanu.  I will keep you here no longer…and I won’t hesitate to call on you again very soon.”

“The djinn will help the Lire with her new powers if she desires.  Call on the djinn soon.  The djinn will come with free will.”

The entity on the right floated toward me and touched my face with a trail of mist.  I felt something cold sting my skin, and just as I was about to cry out in pain, the sensation stopped.

“The djinn give the Lire a binding to sense impending danger more quickly.  It will strengthen the blood bond.”

The djinn withdrew, and I tentatively ran my fingertips over the spot between my eyebrows.  The smoothness of my skin was unbroken, but I felt a shock of cold on my fingers whenever they brushed over the small area.

I remembered my manners and thanked them before they dissipated from view.  When I looked over at Vince, he frowned at me and slowly came closer.  He brushed my hair out of my face and carefully touched my forehead.

“Strange.  You can barely see a silver mark there, and it’s cold.”  He rubbed his fingers together and then placed his hands on my shoulders.  “Are you okay?”

In response, I wrapped marms around him and gently nestled my head in the crook of his neck.  After a momentary hesitation, he moved his hands to return my embrace.

“I’m okay.”  I pulled away slightly, so I could see his face.  “How about you?”

A fleeting expression of anxiety and something else crossed his face before he covered it and shrugged.  “Confused.  Worried about you…but otherwise okay.”

I didn’t believe him.  Not completely.  Something about his expression seemed slightly standoffish and his eyes, which were normally warm and alert, regarded me with a strained expression.  Suddenly I was struck with an overwhelming stab of fear that he might be reconsidering our fledgling romance.  I realized that this was further indication that my feelings had grown stronger since we acknowledged our mutual attraction to one another.  Was I falling for him?  The urge to pull back and protect my heart was irresistible and the abrupt influx of emotions betrayed me.

Vince examined my face.  “What?  What’s wrong?”

I pulled away reluctantly and again tested the cold spot on my forehead with the tip of my index finger.  “Nothing.  I’m okay.”

Feelings of uncertainty ran headlong through my thoughts, and I took another moment to regain my composure.  Pitifully, I hoped that Vince might pull me back into his arms and show me how much he cared for me, but he didn’t.  In fact, he overlooked my unconvincing testament that I was fine and just nodded at my response.  Or course, I had just done the very same thing to him, but I was disappointed anyway.  I mumbled something about calling Claude and walked stiffly into the kitchen.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Claude opened his front door almost before I had finished pressing the doorbell.

Greeting me with enthusiasm, he beamed, “Bonjour!  Lire, I have been tormented by not seeing you of late.”  My name rolled off of his tongue the way it was intended, smooth with a delicate ring, even though his voice was quite deep.

Before I could answer, he waved us into his entryway.  “Please, come in.”

To say that Claude was a bit of a character was an understatement.  He was a womanizing scoundrel and an outrageous flirt, but was so charming that he got away with it.  I guessed that it was because Claude always managed to make every woman he encountered feel completely special, even though it was totally obvious that he flirted with all of them equally, sometimes at the same time, and fully intended to remain a bachelor indefinitely.  Plus, he was French, unquestionably attractive, and had that wonderful accent that made most women forget about playing hard-to-get.

I wasn't necessarily immune to his charms, but my clairvoyance thwarted any escalation beyond mutual egregious flirtation.  Besides, sleeping with men without any type of commitment was not my normal practice, which I'm sure came across loud and clear.  Because of that, Claude and I ended up forming a close friendship that wasn't completely platonic, yet never crossed the line into romance.

As usual, Claude was dressed impeccably, although, he could probably wear anything and still look like he had just posed for GQ Magazine.  His stature and physique were undeniably eye-catching.  Today, he wore black trousers and a trendy midnight-blue button down shirt that remained untucked for a more casual look.  The dark blue shirt contrasted strikingly with his dark blonde, wavy shoulder length hair, which was parted neatly down the middle and tucked behind both ears.  It was no wonder women practically swooned at his feet—the French accent combine with his overall appearance were bound to lead to a 'little black book' the size of an encyclopedia.

I quickly introduced Vince.  After their polite greeting, Claude looked at me sharply.  “Powerful things are moving within you, chérie.”

He stood close and peered at the djinn’s mark.  I tried unsuccessfully to tamp down the childish feelings of triumph at Claude’s focused attention while Vince watched.  Claude's intent hazel eyes examined my face thoroughly and the set of his eyebrows somehow managed to convey the fact that he enjoyed our close proximity.

“Yes, very powerful.  That I can see.  But I am being rude.  Come sit.”  Claude led the way into his living room.  “I’ve been seeing you on the news, mon amie.  You are having a interesting time of late, I think.”

“Yeah, you could say that.”  I glanced at all the striking paintings, gleaming glass block walls, and bright chrome accents that contrasted with the brown leather and dark wood furnishings.

“Can I get you something?  Coffee, tea, mineral water?  I have psi-free.”  Claude waited to take a seat as Vince and I sat next to each other on the dark brown leather sofa.

“No, thank you, Claude,” I said.

“Detective?”

“I’d love some mineral water if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble.  Un moment.”

When Claude left the room in pursuit of Vince’s water, Vince surprised me by running his finger along the side of my neck.  My body shivered involuntarily from his touch.  I turned to look at him, and he kissed me lightly on the lips.  After a brief pause to look into my eyes, he leaned back into the cushion and placed his arm casually along the back of the couch.  I smiled, slightly bemused, and wondered at the motivation behind Vince’s enticing display of affection.  Whatever the reason, my emotions instantly vaulted to Cloud Nine while my inner voice scolded me for getting carried away.  I grumbled internally.  The emotional ups and downs of a budding romance were exhausting.

A moment later, Claude emerged from the kitchen and handed Vince a glass with ice, sparkling water, and a wedge of lime.  The lime was a nice touch.  I raised my eyebrows, delighted by Claude’s hosting efforts.

Vince thanked him before taking a sip.  When Claude slid him a coaster for the coffee table, Vince nodded.

Claude sat down adjacent to me.  “So, I think you said on the telephone that you are in need of some magical assistance?”

I nodded.  “Yes.  I am wondering whether you, or someone you know, might be capable of creating a talisman of some kind that will repel a telepathic attack.”

Claude considered my request.  “A telepathic attack?  Yes…such a thing is possible.  I am wondering, is this for you, or someone else?”  He glanced at Vince.

“For me and possibly for others, depending upon how easy they are to construct.  To be honest, I have no idea how difficult it might be.  Maybe I am asking for the moon.”  I laughed.

Claude smiled.  “Yes, it is quite difficult.  I will tell you, such a thing might take several days to create.  For a coven, perhaps only some hours, but of course, a coven is very expensive.  You fear such an attack?”

I glanced over at Vince, and he spoke up, “She has already been attacked.  Earlier today.”

Claude's eyes widened with shock and then narrowed into an expression of determination.  “I will do this for you, chérie.  Anything for you.  Yu know that.  I can have it ready in a couple days.  But, for more than one, I will talk with my coven.  Maybe they will help.  Maybe only for a price.  I do not know.”  He tilted his head and regarded me pointedly.  “The charm will only work from a distance, n’est-ce pas?  Bah, of course you do.”  He cocked an eyebrow suggestively.  “If not, then a charm could be made to block your magic as we both know.  But this is not possible.  No?”

I nodded and smothered an amused smile.  Claude was clearly on his best behavior with the detective sitting next to me, but his salacious nature peeked out occasionally.

Vince leaned forward slightly.  “So, what does that mean?  If one of the telepaths touches Lire, this talisman won’t work?”

“Oui.  Detective, think of the charm as something that gives the wearer a…how do you say?  Shield, er, no.  Armor?  Yes?  Just over the skin.”  Claude moved his hand quickly just over the surface of his clothing.  “But this armor—it is of magic.  Not metal.  So…if the psychic touches the skin, like so, he will break through the ward.  You see?”

Nothing could block the direct touch of a psychic.  Whether a telepath, telekinetic, or pyrokinetic—a talisman could be made to repel a ranged attack, but nothing can block the powers involved in skin-to-skin contact.

I nodded my agreement and turned to Vince.  “And if it was possible to ward the skin, I’d already have one.  Believe me.”

“Yes, exactly so.”  Claude nodded and then turned a serious eye toward me.  “Now Lire, you know…to create the charm I will need something of you.  Hair or fingernail, peut-être?  I will protect it with my life.  That is my promise.”

I nodded stiffly.  Freely giving something from the body was extremely dangerous, especially if the item fell into the wrong hands.  A warlock or sorcerer in possession of such a thing could perform any number of spells, many of which had the potential to affect the donor to the extreme.  I had known Claude for several years and trusted him.  Still, this particular act of faith was never arbitrarily given.

Vince returned his drink to the coaster and looked back and forth from Claude to me.  “What’s up?  Is there a problem?”

Claude nodded at me and then looked at Vince to explain.  “Detective, you know of course about magic that uses something from the body?  Like the voodoo doll?  That is the one most people know.”

“Yes, but I thought voodoo dolls were an urban legend—a joke—something that certain Caribbean religious fanatics tout to the tourists.”

“Ah, yes, that is what many believe because most of the time the…ah, connect?  No, sorry, the…connection is not freely given.  That is why most people, they don’t believe in the voodoo.”  Claude sighed.  “How do I explain?  Without a connection, freely given, the magic cannot flow.  Freely giving, like the hair, or fingernail, or even blood, something of the body, gives a magic user much more power—power over the giver.  You see?”

“I think so.  And you need something from Lire, in order to make this…ward?  Is that right?”

“Oui.  Just so.  It is a grave request and one that requires a great deal of trust.”

I turned to Vince.  “Exactly.  And this is another reason why we won’t be able to get a talisman for everyone working on the case.  Some people will be unwilling to take such a risk.”

I tipped my head forward, carefully culled out a single strand of hair and pulled it out sharply.

Ah…un moment!”  Claude rose quickly from the couch.  “Let me get something for it.”

Less than a minute later he returned with a white envelope.  While he held it open, I deliberately placed my single strand of hair inside, and then Claude carefully sealed the envelope.

He placed it flat against his chest, over his heart.  “Lire, I promise to keep this safe and use it in total for the making of a telepathic charm.  Sur mon honneur.”

Standing up, I thanked him and said that I trusted him completely.  “Merci beaucoup, Claude.  Je sais que je peux te faire confiance.  J'apprécie vraiment ton aide.”

Vince looked surprised, and I winked at him slyly.

“Ah, chérie.  Te français est impeccable.  As always, you speak like a fellow Parisian.”

“Hardly!” I said with an embarrassed laugh.

“I only speak the truth.”  He chuckled.  “I will call you, of course, when the talisman is complete.  Do not worry.”

“Je comprends.  Merci.”

We said our goodbyes, and then Vince and I headed back to my apartment.

While we were waiting for the elevator, Vince turned to me.  “You speak French, I gather.  Do you know any other languages?”

I nodded.  “Yeah.  Over time, from my various readings, I’ve picked up a few.  Some I know better than others.”

“How many do you know?”

“I don't know.  Like I said, I'm not fluent in all of them.”  I shrugged.  “I suppose it’s one of the few benefits of being a clairvoyant.”

We stepped into the empty elevator, and I pressed the button for my floor.

“Wow.”  He looked at me wolfishly.  “Say something to me in Italian.”

I laughed and after a moment of thought, leaned toward his ear to whisper, “Voglio sentire la tua pelle vicino alla mia pelle.”

He pulled me toward him.  “What did you say?”

I just laughed and belatedly decided to refrain from saying anything that I didn't actually want to reveal.  Telling him that I wanted to feel his skin next to mine probably wasn't one of my better ideas.

Vince jostled me.  “Tell me.”

“Peut-être j'irai faire et peut-être je n'irai pas faire.”  Maybe I will and maybe I won't, now isn't that the truth.

“You are so asking for trouble.”  Vince pushed my back against the wall of the elevator and kissed me thoroughly.  My hormones soared.  It was all I could do to walk in a straight path toward my apartment when the elevator doors opened on my floor.

Vince provided me with an interesting distraction, pulling my hair aside so that he could do wonderful things to my neck, while I attempted to insert my house key into the deadbolt.  It only took me three or four tries.  By the time the door opened, I was breathless and we more or less stumbled into my apartment.  I turned around in his arms, blindly struggling to close the door.  Vince solved the dilemma by pushing me firmly against the inside so that it closed with a slam.  Freed of their previous task, my hands roamed freely over Vince’s chest.  I delighted in every ripple and curve as we heatedly kissed and pressed our bodies together.  My fingers sought to touch his bare skin, so I fumbled with his shirt.  Of course, the gloves still needed to come off.

“Lire?” Red’s voice came from the direction of the family room.  h’m sorry to interrupt, but something important has come up.”

We reluctantly disentangled ourselves, and I let my head fall toward Vince's chest with a frustrated moan.  I inhaled deeply to calm my breathing and vainly tried to settle down all my hungry nerve endings.

“Be with you in a second, Red,” I called.  I think I kept the aggravation out of my voice.

Slowly, we pulled back and regarded each other.  Vince looked at me with an expression of amused frustration.  He leaned forward slightly.  “I guess you’ll have to be in trouble later.”

My smile was crooked and I sighed loudly.  “Only if our luck changes.”

Vince laughed.  With one final kiss, he pulled away to grasp my hand and lead the way to the kitchen.

“I am sorry, Lire, but Darren called about five minutes ago.  I told him to call for you at Claude’s.”  He hesitated as he carefully chose his words.  “Your behavior just now seemed to indicate that Darren did not manage to reach you.”

I glanced at Vince.  “Uh, no.  No, he didn’t.  What’s going on?  What does Darren want?”

“Daniel is in the lobby.  He is asking to see you, and he’s not alone.”

I looked with surprise at the telephone and then back at Red.  “Daniel?  He’s in the lobby?”

“Who is he with?” Vince asked.

“Darren didn’t say.  He only told me that Daniel Stockard and an associate were in the lobby asking for Lire.”

I headed toward the telephone and it started ringing just before I got there.  Caller-id told me that it was the lobby desk.

“Darren?”

“Yes.  There are two gentlemen in the lobby asking to see you—a Daniel Stockard and his associate, Michael Thompson.  I can transfer you to the guest telephone if you’d like to speak with one of them.”

What did I want to do?  I knew that Daniel and whoever was with him were unable to offer me harm as long as the building’s wards protected me, but my instincts told me to be cautious.

“Darren, please ask Tanu to escort them to a conference room.  And, will you ask Tanu to wait there for me.  I'll be right down.”

“That I can do.  Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

I thanked Darren and hung up while I silently cursed my luck.  There was no way that I was going to convince Vince to stay out of the meeting.  I just hoped that Daniel would still want to talk to me with a detective in the same room.

I turned to regard Vince.  “Well, I guess we should go find out what they want.”

“First I have to notify Agent Cunningham.”  Vince had already removed his Blackberry from the clip at his belt.

I took a step toward him and interrupted before he could start dialing.  “No.  Look, I don’t want them involved yet.  Daniel is here to speak with me, not the FBI.  I’m already in this mess because of my involvement with you guys.  I don’t want to blow things out of proportion or screw things up by charging in with the cavalry.  You’ll be with me—that’s enough.”

Vince’s jaw tightened.  “Dammit, Lire!  I can’t do that!  There’s an all points out on this guy.  It will be my ass if I don’t report it.”

“And it will be mine if you do!”

Vince hesitated, but his eyes radiated determination.  I was well aware that my demand for secrecy was bound to put a strain on our relationship, or even brk it completely, but my situation was extremely precarious.  Inwardly I screamed with frustration.

I covered my face with my hands and walked away.  What was I going to do?  I felt strongly that calling in the FBI to detain Daniel was the absolutely worst thing to do, but it was clear that Vince thought the exact opposite.  My life was on the line, along with his job.  It seemed to me that my life was way more important than his career and the petty side of me was upset that he didn’t see it that way.

I sighed.  “Vince, do what you have to do, but I’m telling you that it’s a mistake to call.  Daniel is possibly here to make me some kind of deal.”  I turned around to face him, arms crossed around my midsection.  “I don’t want to spend the foreseeable future waiting for a telepathic attack.  If he has some kind of truce in mind, I’d like to hear it.  If you call Cunningham, I can probably kiss that goodbye.”

Vince pressed his lips into an angry line and then stalked to the couch.  “Goddammit!”  He stood rigidly with his back to me for several moments before turning around to glare at me.  “Fine.  But if either of them steps out of line, I’m hauling their asses over to Cunningham before you can say magi-phobe!”

I regarded him sympathetically.  I felt bad for asking him to go against his professional ethics, but what else was I supposed to do?  I approached him slowly while I peered into his eyes and tried to gage his mood.  His expression softened slightly when I drew near.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and whispered into his ear, “I’m sorry.  I don’t want you to get into trouble, but I don’t know what else to do.”

He sighed and stiffly returned my embrace.  “I know.  I just hope Cunningham doesn’t blow a gasket when he hears about this.”

I pulled away and placed my hand gently on the side of his cheek.  His eyes were wonderfully warm and brown, and I wondered sappily whether I would ever tire of looking into them.

He cocked an eyebrow at me.  “Come on.  Let’s go meet the mysterious Mr. Stockard.”

The elevator ride down to the second floor was mostly silent because Lana, a neighbor one floor down, got on the elevator with her fiancé.  We greeted each other as was expected, but didn’t say much more than a simple hello.  Lana was relatively new to the complex, so I didn’t know her very well.  Fortunately, the elevator didn’t make any further stops, so the trip to our second floor destination was a quick one.

The building’s entire second floor was dedicated to spaces for all the tenants.  There was a kitchen with great room for parties, a video arcade, basketball court, fitness area, and a couple of conference rooms.  I led Vince to the right, past the empty great room, and down the hall that led to the conference rooms.

In the hallway, a barrel-chested, silver haired security guard stood next to a closed door.  He regarded Vince and me calmly as we approached and turned his body slightly to face our direction.

“Hello, Tanu.  Is everything okay?”  I didn’t really expect any problems, but I asked anyway.

“Everything is fine.  The Lire’s two telepathic guests are inside.  They offered no conversation and followed without incident.  Does the Lire wish the djinn to remain on guard here?”

I responded, “Um, no.  I don’t think that will be necessary.  Thank you, Tanu.  I’ll call you if I need anything.”

“That will be a pleasure as the Lire knows.”  Tanu slowly walked past Vince and me toward the elevator.

Vince studiouslatched the grey haired guard walk out of hearing distance.  “I see the strangest things when I’m with you.”

“I told you the djinn were impressive.”  I turned to the closed conference room door.  “Ready?”

Vince nodded and we entered the medium sized conference room.  Seated at the rectangular table, kitty-corner to each other, were Daniel and his dark haired associate.  They both stood up as Vince and I entered.  I noticed that Daniel looked a bit startled and assumed that it was because of Vince’s presence.

“Hello, Daniel.  I’m glad to see you again.”  I motioned toward Vince, who was closing the door behind us.  “This is Vince Vanelli.”  I looked at Daniel meaningfully.  “He was with me not long ago when I was attacked by two telepaths in the parking garage of the FBI offices.  He is a detective with the Chiliquitham Police Department…and a friend.”

“Uh, hi.”  Daniel glanced quickly at his companion.  “Uh, this is Michael Thompson.  He is a fellow member of the group I was telling you about.  We share similar beliefs as to the direction of our organization.”

Thompson was not much taller than me and probably around my age with dark brown eyes, a nose that looked as if it had been broken sometime in the distant past, and hair so close to black that I hesitate to call it dark brown.  Although his complexion was fair, I wondered whether he shared some Native American or possibly Asian ancestry—it was something about the shape of his eyes, wide forehead and high cheekbones.  His closely cropped, dark hair showed off a prominent widow’s peak, which was striking.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Devon.  I was sorry to hear that some members of our organization decided to…escalate the situation.  Not all of us felt that it was the best course of action.  I’m glad you’re okay.”

With considerable relief, I noted that his voice sounded nothing like that of the murderer.  Of course, his height didn't qualify him either.

I dipped my chin in acknowledgement.  “Uh, thanks.  Nice to meet you too.”

Thompson turned to regard Vince and leaned across the table to offer his hand.  “Detective,” he said with a nod.  “I must tell you, your involvement with Miss Devon has caused quite a stir.  If you don’t mind me asking, why is a descendant of an elder race involved in these human matters?”

Vince tensed noticeably as they shook hands.  “Elder race?  I don’t know what you mean.  I am involved because it is my job, Mr. Thompson.  I apprehend criminals.”

Thompson looked uncertain.  “I see.”

Daniel stepped in to offer Vince his hand.  “Detective Vanelli.  So, you are not a Sidhe representative?”

“No.  I am not.”  Vince's expression was severe, but he was polite enough to shake Daniel's hand.  “I am a detective with the Chiliquitham Police Department.  I am currently involved in the apprehension of the person or persons responsible for what are being called the Circle Murders.”

Daniel glanced quickly at his associate.  “Ah, well, then perhaps we cannot speak as freely as we had hoped.”

Vince shot back, “Maybe a trip to the station will help.”

Daniel ignored Vince’s implied threat and continued to look at me.  “Lire, unfortunately, your visit with the FBI has caused considerable uproar within our organization.  Mike and I were hoping to speak about possible…options, but I have to be honest, the detective’s presence here complicates things.”

“It’s only complicated if—”

eight="6pt" width="1em">With an extended hand, I cut Vince off before things escalated.  “Please.  Vince.  Just…hold on a second.  Okay?”  My expression pleaded with him to zip it.

I gritted my teeth and contemplated throttling Daniel until he turned blue, or alternatively pinching Vince’s ear, but I pulled out a chair instead.

I glared at Daniel.  “You and your damned organization are so infuriating, you know that?  If it weren’t for your interference—coming to my office and scaring the bejeezus out of me—I wouldn’t be in this situation!  When you ran off, I panicked.  What did you expect?  I called Vince because I didn’t know what else to do, and I was scared.”  I narrowed my eyes at him.  “And, just so you know, I’ve put my relationship with Vince on the line by asking him not to call in the cavalry.  Since this is mostly your fault, the least you can do is tell me what the hell is going on.”

The two men remained standing and looked at each other, clearly deliberating.  I sat down in the chair closest to Daniel and folded my arms across my chest.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!”  I lowered my shield a crack and pointed at Daniel.  “You have permission to enter, but not him.  Do you understand?  If I get any whiff of his intrusion, I’ll cut things short but quick.”

Daniel looked surprised for a moment and then acquiesced with a nod.  He retook his chair at the head of the table.  Thompson’s seat was across the table from me where he sat back down and regarded me calmly.

Vince remained standing behind me.  “Lire?  What are you doing?”

I swiveled in my seat, so I could look at him imploringly.  “Trust me again, okay?  I’m just going to have a private conversation with Daniel.  Sit here…by me.”  I motioned to the empty chair to my left.  “If anything happens, you have my permission to arrest them, okay?”  I smiled wryly and cocked an eyebrow at Thompson.

Vince looked angry, but sat down on my left, like I asked.  I decided to reward him profusely, later, for going along with my lead.  That is if we ever had more than thirty minutes of private, uninterrupted world-not-falling-apart time together.  I suppressed a sigh.

Daniel glanced at Vince and thought to me, So, you and the Detective have something going?

Uh, yeah.  Maybe.  Just barely, and with all this crap happening, I’ll be lucky if he still wants to keep it that way, I thought back at Daniel, with a look of exasperation.

Ah, well, I’m sorry about that.  I guess him being part Sidhe makes him a good candidate.

I wanted to roll my eyes.  Candidate?  Yeah, right.  As if I have an endless line of guys auditioning for a starring role in my life.  Not.  Until the telepathic psychos in the parking garage tried to attack us, I had no idea why Vince was unreadable to me.  I had hoped that he was one of many possible normal humans that could stand up to my gift.  I shrugged.

Not everyone needs to stand up to your gift, Lire.

I wondered whether he was alluding to our childhood relationship, but deliberately chose to ignore the possibility.  Obviously you have not had to resort to dating normals—I haven’t had much choice.  I wanted to get away from any further discussion of my love life, so I redirected the conversation.  So, I guess you guys have experience with the Sidhe?  You know for certain that Vince is part elven?

Yes.  Our organization has some contact with the Otherworld.  Sidhe emissaries have sought our influence at times. He is truly not aware of his ancestry?

I replied, No.  In fact, he was pretty repressed when we first met, typical magi-phobe, and had almost no experience with our world.

Hmmm.  Interesting.  If you want, I can ask around about him.  Maybe I can find out about his connection to the Sidhe.  Daniel tilted his head and looked at me with slightly raised eyebrows.

I thought about it.  I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.  I don’t want to draw any undue attention to him.  I’m sure you've noticed…Vince is in major denial mode right now.  I don’t think he’d be terribly receptive to any type of overtures.  I’m the one who is curious, and it would probably behoove me to stay out of it.  I looked at Daniel wistfully.  Um, I guess we should probably start talking about the issue at hand.  Don’t you think?

His laughter tickled my mind.  Of course, but I have to confess that talking with you again brings back a lot of memories.  His face took on a sympathetic expression.  I’m sorry to hear that my departure from school was so difficult for you.

I was startled.  It took me a moment, but I realized that he had probably gleaned the information about my suicide attempt from the police and not from probing my memories.  My shield faltered slightly, and thoughts of that dismal day entered the fore of my mind.  I pushed them back and increased my defenses around our conversation.  Yeah, well…not your fault.  Red saved me from my near misstep, thank goodness.

His eyes regarded me steadily, and I tried not to think about how he had grown into an extremely attractive man.  He suppressed a smile and I knew that my thoughts had betrayed me.  I didn’t hide my face in embarrassment, but it was close.

Lire, if it makes it any easier, I also had a tough time, especially the first several months away from you and my other friends at Coventry.  I missed you horribly, and my new school wasn’t nearly as carefree as Coventry.  We both suffered.  He paused and then added, And I too think you’ve grown into a very attractive woman, just as I knew you would.  So, now you don’t have to feel that I’ve invaded your privacy.  We are both of the same mind, if you'll excuse the pun.

He smiled with just a hint of mischievousness, and I couldn’t help but shake my head and laugh out loud.

I thought, Okay.  Now that we’re on the same page, will you tell me what this is all about?  I’m feeling okay right now because you’re here in my head, taking my mind off things.  But, we need to talk about what is going on with the murderer and why my life is being threatened by your organization.  Those two bozos in the parking garage…if Vince hadn’t been there…  I shuddered as some of the memories of the terrifying event leaked into my mind.

Daniel looked acutely troubled.  Yes.  I heard.  I can’t tell you how relieved I was when I heard they had failed.  He paused for a moment, and I sensed that he was carefully choosing his words.  To be honest, Mike and I are here because we represent a growing number of people in our organization who want to see some changes in the hierarchy.  As I mentioned earlier, not all of us are happy with the methods that are frequently employed by our leadership.  Your arrival onto the scene has only served to widen that rift.

He sighed and explained, Lire, to be totally frank, Mike and I are risking much in coming to you.  The reason we are here is because we believe the prophecy foretells that you will be instrumental in the reordering of our organization.

I f my eyes widen.  What?  Oh please!  Danny!  I don’t have the first clue about your secret club, and I don't want to!  Three days ago, I didn’t know them from a hole in the ground, and now you’re telling me that I’ll be instrumental in…what?  Some major changing of the guard?  What's with you guys?  I can’t believe you place so much faith in these divinations.  Haven’t any of you stopped to think that it’s your influence that might be responsible for bringing about this supposed shake-up?

Daniel nodded.  Yes, that is one of the main arguments behind our cause.  We, and our…fellow dissenters, believe that our leaders have been relying too heavily on divinations.  By interfering with the timeline, we quite possibly end up causing the very thing predicted.  He sighed.  And, there are other disagreements as well, but it isn’t necessary to go into all of them right now.

I looked at him intently.  Uh-huh.  Well, to be totally honest, I couldn't care less about the details, I simply want my life back—free and clear from any worries of a visit from the brain wiping squad of doom.  Oh, and I want the murderer stopped—now—before he kills anyone else.  If we can come to some sort of arrangement that will get all of us what we want, then that’s fine with me.

I heard Vince move slightly in his seat and felt his fingers caress the back of my neck.  As I turned to give him a reassuring smile, I suddenly became aware of a feather-light touch in my mind.  It was ever so slight, just a whisper in the din, but I knew instantly that while I was sharing thoughts with Daniel, his cohort was taking the opportunity to peruse my memories undetected.  Just how he was able to do that, considering the strength of my shield, I didn’t know.  But I felt him now as he moved through my mind, sifted through my memories, and violated me beyond measure.  How dare he!

My reaction was immediate and automatic.  An impulsive, hostile cry came out of my mouth as I directed all of my power into ejecting both of them from my mind.  I stood up with such force that my chair was propelled backwards with a crash, but that was nothing compared to the sound that Thompson’s body made as it sailed through the air and collided with the nearest wall.  A burning anger that I’d never felt before ignited within me and the power that accompanied it quickly overwhelmed my mind.

I gestured sharply with my hand, and Daniel joined Thompson, pinned to the wall like a fly on paper.

I screamed at them, “How dare you!”

Unbidden, the fiery force driven by Patty’s malevolence surged through my core and coursed down my arms all the way to my fingertips.  No longer internal, the energy burned bright, causing my arms to flare like a pair of incandescent gloves.  I held out my hands to regard their hypnotic power and watched the plasma dance between my fingers.  I leveled a piercing gaze toward my two captives and contemplated the urge to set the fire free to consume those who caused me pain.

Vince uttered an expletive, and out of the corner of my eye I saw him stagger back from his chair.  “Lire!  Your hands!  What are you doing?”

I ignored him and leveled a fire-encased finger at Thompson.  “You were not invited!  You violated me!  The both of you are no better than the two from the parking garage!”

Through my blazing anger, I heard Daniel struggle to speak.  “Lire!  No!  Listen, please!  I told Mike to test you.  Please!  Don’t do something you’ll regret later.  Let me explain.  I swear…there’ll be no more mind probes.  I give you my word.”

Contemptuous laughter bubbled within me, like molten magma stning to reach the surface, to explode from my lips.  But, just as the burning potential brought me to the brink of my sanity, my forehead flared with a blinding, familiar pain.  The sharp stinging cleared my head of the pernicious anger, along with my intense desire to extract retribution.

I sensed Tanu’s invisible presence in my mind.  The djinn gently reminded me that the wards of the building had not interfered with Thompson’s incursion, which meant that he truly offered me no harm.  This knowledge didn’t make me any less upset about his violation, but it helped me deal with my feelings more constructively.

With renewed control, I stepped back from the brink.  Through our shared conduit, Tanu encouraged me to open myself up to my newfound powers.  I closed my eyes as the energies mingled within my body and throughout my mind.  I freed myself of Patty’s fury and, although I was still spitting mad at the two of them, I discovered that the burning power was something I didn’t have to regard with fear or keep locked away behind my shield.  The force was well within my control, as Trinity's memories confirmed.  This knowledge soothed me, and it was from that reserve of calm that I found the power to control the flames.

I opened my eyes and steadied myself.  Daniel and Thompson regarded me with wild eyes as I drew on my power.  However, instead of lashing them with fire, I smothered my burning arms with a thick layer of ice and then smashed them down on the table with a final grunt of anger.  Pieces of ice flew about in all directions.

Gently, I brought the two men down from their unwilling aerial perches and made sure they were standing before releasing my grasp.

Totally spent, my legs collapsed beneath me and I crumpled to the floor.  Overwhelmed by the experience and frightened by the possibility of losing control again, I buried my face in my hands.  At that point, I almost didn't care if the two telepaths had their way with my mind.

“What is happening to me?” I whimpered.

I felt like a monster—like the Incredible Hulk whose powers are unleashed at the merest spark of anger—a freak of nature.  My body, still recovering from the barely controlled power and flood of intense emotions, started shaking uncontrollably.  Hugging my knees to my chest, I sadly placed my forehead on top of my bent knees.  It wasn't easy, but I didn't fall apart.

For a long moment, no one moved or made a sound, and the person who finally came to comfort me wasn’t who I expected or hoped it would be.

“Lire, I’m sorry.  I had a feeling you’d be angry if you were able to detect Mike, but…I never…never wanted to hurt you or cause you pain.”  Daniel paused, clearly upset.  “In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best plan.  We just needed to know the extent of your power—your shield, I mean—and your ability to detect and repel a mind probe.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t expect the rest.  I knew you had the ability to levitate, but the rest…”  He sighed again.

Can you ever forgive me? Daniel asked more intimately.

As I loosened the grip on my folded legs, I ordered myself to get the useless emotions under control.  I had faced difficulties before—things that seemed insurmountable at the time—and I always managed to come out on top.  I would do it again.  I had to, for Jason and Trinity and Nick.

I looked at Daniel.  Sorrow and regret permeated his expression.

“I don’t understand what you were hoping to achieve, but there was no way for you to anticipate my reaction.”

I glanced at Vince, who was standing at the edge of the conference ta.  He stared at me with an expression of shock and disbelief.  The fact that he remained distant and did not come to my side when I was clearly despondent churned my heart.  At that moment, I knew that I could kiss goodbye any hope of a lasting relationship.  In his mind, I was an aberration.

I'm sure the pain was evident on my face as I looked back at Daniel.  I closed my eyes against the threatening tears.

He’s just in shock.  Give him time, he thought.

I opened my eyes and shook my head slowly.  No amount of time is going to cure this.  He thinks I’m a freak.  And, the sad thing is, he’s not wrong.

Daniel reached out and placed his palm against my cheek.  As my magic flared and drew his psychic essence into my mind, he thought back, No, you’re not.  You are a power to be reckoned with, yes, but you are definitely not a freak.

I tried to pull away from his touch to avoid the burden of his memories, but Daniel deliberately maintained the contact with my cheek.  He wanted me to accept his essence.

What are you doing? I thought with alarm.  I used my shield to control the flow of his psychic energy, unsure whether I should cast it out and try harder to pull myself away from his touch.

I want you to know a few things.  Don’t worry, I’m not allowing you every detail.  I do have some control over that, you know.  I’ve learned a thing or two since we were kids.

The panic on my face must have been comical because Daniel laughed and said out loud, “Don’t worry, Lire.  I wouldn’t do this unless I was confident in my abilities.  The Sidhe aren’t the only ones who can resist your gift.”

At Daniel's comment, Vince finally spoke up.  “Do what?”

Daniel looked over at Vince.  “I am sharing some important memories with Lire.  Things that will explain much about what is going on and give her the answers to many of her questions.”

Even before Daniel finished answering Vince, I knew why he and Thompson came to see me, why the murderer was killing psychics and, most importantly, how I acquired Jason, Patty and Trinity’s powers.  But, instead of making me feel better and more in control, the information weighed me down.  I realized dismally that things were never, ever going to be the same again.

Daniel withdrew his hand and I stared at him in disbelief.  “Oh God!  I don’t want any of this!  I wish this all never happened.”

“Nevertheless, they are the facts and unfortunately you and the traitor are at the center of it.”  He smiled wistfully.  “And as a certain someone liked to tell me—quite often, as a matter of fact—no good ever came from just wishing.”

I sighed loudly.  “Yeah, I know, but it never stopped me from doing it anyway.”

Daniel looked at me sympathetically before he stood and helped me up.  “So.  Now you know everything I could tell you.  Use the information as you will.  I’m sorry, but we have to go.”  He glanced toward Thompson.  “Good luck, Lire.  I hope that we will meet again soon.”

And under better circumstances, he added.

Vince remained silent as Daniel and Thompson said goodbye and closed the door behind them.  When they were gone, Vince regarded me with an unreadable, far-away expression.  I felt my eyebrows and mouth draw down into a sad frown.  Again, I fought back the urge to cry.  Unsure what to do or say, I slowly picked up my overturned chair and returned it to the conference table.

Small puddles of water covered the sace of the table, along with some larger pieces of ice that hadn’t completely melted.  The desire to collapse into tears was overpowering, but I was determined not to make any more of a fool of myself.  Instead, I got some paper towels from the nearby wet bar and began soaking up the water.  The pieces of ice went into the small sink.  As I endured the uncomfortable silence and busied myself with the cleanup, I reminded myself that I was strong, I had power, and that I would not fall apart.

When the table was completely dry, I tossed the towels into the trash and then sat down in my previous spot.  I did my best to hold it together while I waited for Vince to do or say something.  After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only a minute, I heard Vince move and turned my head to calmly watch him take the chair across the table from me.

“I guess you’re not so sure about ordering that freaky surprise sundae, now, are you?”  My tone was flippant, but my expression probably conveyed otherwise.

Vince ran his fingers through his hair without comment.  Confronted with his silence, I wondered whether he remembered our conversation, in which he implied that my life, ripe with magic, was more interesting than his pure vanilla world.

My bottom lip trembled, and I bit it hard to keep myself from crying.  I didn’t need him in my life anyway, I told myself.  All the emotional ups and downs were annoying, and I had more important things to worry about than the meager, pathetic status of my love life.

There’s nothing like anger to head off a bad case of heartbreak.

I made a hurry-up gesture with my hand.  “Well, let’s just get this over with then.    Get out your notebook.  You’re going to want to write this down, I’m sure.”

Vince blew out an exasperated sigh.  “Look…Lire, I’m sorry that I can’t roll with the magical punches like your friend Daniel.  I wish I could, but it’s not that easy for me.”  He paused and rubbed his hand over his mouth and chin.  “There’s a lot going on right now and, well, I just need some time to get my head around things.”

Ponying up a detachment I didn’t feel, I silently thanked my lucky stars that we never made it past second base.  “Yep.  Gotcha loud and clear.”

I ignored the fact that Vince hadn’t yet transitioned into detective mode (he still looked slightly lost for words), quashed my urge to feel sorry for him, and immediately launched into my brain dump.

“The man you’re looking for is Brian Stalzing.  Not that it will help you much, of course, since all memory of his identity has been eradicated.  But you guys seem to place so much interest in a criminal’s identity that I feel compelled to tell you anyway.”

I sighed and watched as Vince got out his notebook.  When he was ready, I continued.  Instead of looking at his face, I allowed my focus to wander between his moving pen and the window behind him.  “He was indoctrinated into Invisius Verso when he was thirteen, a year before Daniel.  Invisius Verso is the name of their little secret club.  It’s Latin.  It basically means 'unseen influence', which says a lot about their mode of operation.  Their organization goes back hundreds of years.”

I slumped further back into my chair and crossed my arms over my stomach.  “Daniel thinks Brian is a sociopath.  He cares very little for other people, unless it serves him in some way.  Brian is on a one-man crusade to take over control of Invisius Verso.  He knows that the only way to achieve this is by becoming so powerful that no one can possibly stand up to him.  That’s why he’s killing psychics.  He found a way to gain theirer with an ancient shaman spell.

This spell was a part of a ritual that was originally used to pass down a shaman’s abilities to a younger apprentice.  It was indispensable for our prehistoric ancestors because it more or less guaranteed that the clan would always have a powerful shaman, who not only was skilled in magic, but also carried all the memories of past generations.  This was incredibly important in a time when there was no written language.  So, when the elder shaman felt that he was nearing the end of his life, the ritual was performed and all of his memories and power flowed to the chosen novice.  The old shaman died in the process and a new, young shaman took his place.”

I paused momentarily to ease the tension in my neck before continuing.  Vince regarded his notes silently.

“Anyway, that’s how Brian knows all those intimate details about me.  He has many of Nick's memories.  And it also explains why I ended up with some of the victim’s powers.  The residual magic must have been strong enough to affect me, perhaps because I am a clairvoyant…I don’t know.  It seems like an unlikely scenario, but then again, everything that’s happened so far sounds farfetched.”

I waited for Vince to finish writing before telling him the part I knew he wasn't going to like.  “So, now you know the murderer’s name and his motive and his method, but it's not going to help you much.”

Vince looked at me sharply.  “Why?  You think his identity has been erased that thoroughly?”

I know I must have looked sad.  “Well, that won’t help things, but, no, that’s not it.”  I regarded Vince pointedly.  “Invisius Verso is going to apply their influence at the highest level.  They’re going to make sure that our most recent theories are discredited and we are removed from the case.”

In fact, Daniel and his associates had to exercise much of their own influence to prevent those in charge of Invisius from going even further.  There were some who wanted to make sure our reputations and personal lives were so completely trashed that there was no possibility that our claims could be reexamined in the future.

The muscles along Vince’s jaw twitched and his neck went rigid.  “What are you saying?  What are they going to do, exactly?”

I suppressed a shiver as I recalled Daniel’s memories of the voting process.  Not only had my life been at stake, but Daniel's too.  Because of our relationship, it was paramount for him to keep his feelings and memories heavily shielded.  He had to remain outwardly dispassionate at all times.  Any chink in Daniel's armor would lead to the discovery of his revolutionary thoughts and doom him, along with his compatriots, to a mind wipe—or worse.

Daniel was a very powerful telepath.  If he was scared of being discovered, then I surely had reason to be terrified.

I answered Vince truthfully.  “Daniel didn’t know the specifics.  He was only involved in the vote regarding whether or not influence should be applied and to what extent.  There were several on the committee who wanted to make sure our reputations and personal lives were completely ruined, but Daniel and his associates managed to convince the majority that a heavy handed approach was too dangerous.  They reasoned that it is always possible to apply more pressure, but not as easy to undo what is already set into motion.”  I slapped my hands on the table to underscore the finality of the situation.  “They will start with a small nudge.  If—for whatever reason—that initial nudge is not enough to derail the current direction of the case, then they will apply additional pressure.  If we resist and continue to pursue either the murderer or Invisius Verso, then it will get ugly.  It’s as simple as that.”

Vince’s eyes bored into mine.  “So that’s it?  We’re done?  We just walk away and forget about all of this?  And, meanwhile, the murderer is free to kill someone else.  Is that it?”

I sighed.  “Vince.  If you refuse to…go with the flow, then you will be ruined.  And not only you.”  I leaned forward to stress my point.  “Don’t you understand?  You are special—no matter how much you try and deny it.  They can’t get inside your head.  They can’t break your mind.  So, they will do the next best thing.  They will destroy your life.  They will manipulate those around you and possibly destroy the minds of those people closest to you.”  I leaned back into my chair.  “It’s your choice.  Don’t be fooled into thinking otherwise.  It is a choice you have to make—let others pursue the murderer or don’t.  If you decide to persist, then you and your loved ones will pay the consequences.”

Vince's expression was angry and accusatory.  “So you’re going to walk away.  They win.  End of story?”

“Yes.”  I regarded Vince grimly.  “I have some of Daniel’s memories.  I know what they can do.  But, I also know that they will pursue Brian Stalzing relentlessly.  They will not stop until he is apprehended or killed, of that I have no doubt.”

Vince regarded me coolly.  I met his eyes and wondered what he was thinking, whether he would lay off the case, whether he believed me.  The sound of Vince’s telephone broke the silence and caused me to jump.  It rang several times before Vince reached down to answer it.

“Yeah?” he said as he stood up.

I wished that I could hear the person talking on the other end.  Vince listened a moment, glanced briefly at me and then said, “I’m here with Lire.  We checked with one of the warlocks in her building about the wards and—”

Clearly, Vince’s words had been cut short.  He turned and walked slowly away from me while listening intently to the person on the other end.  I watched him pace at the back of the room and then stop stiffly near the window, which looked out at the office building next door.

Vince’s posture was rigid, and he ran his free hand severely through his hair.  “What?  What the hell are you talking about?  What did he come up with?”

Vince stood angrily and listened for a moment.  “Jensen, all the facts checked out.  The victim’s names.  Everything.  Don’t you think it’s odd that just when we find out about a telepathic group, Cunningham’s mind suddenly changes?”

Vince listened to a lengthy response and then folded his cell with an angry snap.  He stayed facing the window for a long moment without speaking to me.  I stood up slowly and walked around the conference table, but I didn’t join him at the window.  Instead, I leaned back and perched myself on the edge of the table where he had been sitting previously.

I regarded him sadly.  “It’s starting.  Just like I said.  Isn’t it?”

He didn’t have to tell me what happened.  I knew from his side of the conversation that my skills had been discredited and he had probably been ordered to leave.  My stomach lurched uneasily.  The thing I didn’t know was how much damage had been wrought against me personally.  Was I going to be publicly humiliated?  Or just blackballed from working with the FBI?  Were all police organizations going to shun me now?  Or just the Chiliquitham station?  I tried not to agonize over the extent of the damage, but it wasn’t easy.  I had enough money to live comfortably for the rest of my life if I was extremelyrugal.  However, my coworkers probably didn't have an inheritance to fall back on, like I did.  I hoped that the collateral damage wouldn’t adversely affect their lives, but only time would tell.

“Jensen told me that Cunningham suspects that you faked some of your readings in order to have a key role in the investigation.”  Vince remained facing the window.  “Jensen and I are off the case and I’ve been ordered back to the department.”

When Vince turned toward me, his face was set in a harsh expression.  He looked ready to beat someone to a pulp.  Unfortunately, his gaze was leveled at me.  I tried not to squirm and failed to contain a wave of anguish that overpowered my emotional self-control for a moment.

My composure was sketchy, so I kept things short.  “Well.  Then I guess that’s it.  I’m sure everyone will be relieved to no longer require my services.”

With gritted teeth, I scarcely told Vince to have a good life and then turned and walked out of the conference room.  I compelled myself to walk away calmly without looking back, and it was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done.

After I exited the conference room, I broke into a run toward the stairwell because it was only a matter of time before I lost it.  Pathetically, I longed for Vince to chase after me.

God damned baby! I scolded myself.

Angrily I threw open the steel door ahead of me with Jason's gift and it crashed loudly against the wall.  The excessive use of force was somehow satisfying.  I plowed through the opening and down a short hallway that ended at the secured stairwell door.  A repressed sob echoed in the enclosed space, but I slapped a hand over my mouth and harshly swallowed further tears.  With trembling fingers, I fumbled in my pocket for the security fob and held it against the lock.  With the answering click, I slammed the door open, stormed through and vaulted my body straight over the railing.

Forty feet of empty space loomed below my feet, framed by the corkscrew path of the individual flights of stairs, and I briefly let myself fall toward the bottom before taking control of my body.  Feelings of helplessness threatened to consume me, and I angrily exercised my newly acquired power to push my body upward.  The freedom of weightlessness was thrilling.  The landing of each floor flew quickly past.  I didn’t stop until I reached the ceiling where I came to a blinding halt.  With some of my anger and sadness expelled by the exertion, I coasted calmly and slowly back down to the penthouse landing.

When I entered my apartment, Red was waiting for me near the front door.  I dropped to my knees and scooped him up into my arms.  Tears welled up in my eyes, but I held on to my composure by a tenuous thread.  There was much Red and I needed to discuss, and tears would only interfere.

“Oh, Red.”  My voice brimmed with sadness and disappointment.

Before I was able to elaborate further, a loud pounding rattled my front door.  Startled sparks of alarm zapped clear down to my toes.

Vince’s tone was adamant.  “Lire!  Let me in.”

I stared in the direction of the closed door and blinked back the tears.  “Vince, you need to go.”

“I’m not leaving until I talk to you.  Now open this door before I break it down.”

He sounded completely determined and, since I didn’t want my neighbors wondering why a police detective was breaking down my door, I stood up and opened it just enough to look out.  I loosened my grip on Red, so he was able to sit on my shoulder.

I clamped my teeth together and stared willfully at Vince.

His expression was hard.  “Lire.  Please let me in.”

“Vince,” I quavered, hating the way my voice betrayed my emotions, “please…you should go.  I don’t want you to ruin your career or put your family in danger.  You need to leave.  Now.”

He stepped closer and glared at me.  “Let.  Me.  In.”  His expression softened, and he added, “Please.”

When he pushed gently against the mostly closed door, I didn’t fight him.  I stepped back to let him come inside and then watched in silence as he closed the door behind him.  It was impossible to look confident and steadfast when my eyes were moist with unshed tears.  I crossed my arms and regarded him uncomfortably.

“You honestly think that you could get rid of me that easily?  Or that I’d leave like a dog with a tail between my legs?”

I looked at him, completely baffled, and realized that I had indeed assumed that he was more than eager to leave after witnessing my freak show and hearing what Jensen said about me.  After leaving the conference room, I had tortured myself with the visualization of him walking away with a pat on his back and a thank you heavenward for the near miss of being involved with a weirdo like me.  It was a perfect excuse to leave and I had fully expected him to take it.

I took a trembling breath and tried to remain defiant.  “I…I guess I figured you’d do the smart thing and go back home.”

“I need to know that you will be okay, first.”

My heart wrenched at the sight of him.  He stood three feet away from me and regarded me purposefully.  His arms were crossed tightly, and I almost burst into tears again at wanting him so badly.

“I’ll be fine.”  It was all I could do to meet his smoldering stare and keep from throwing myself into his arms.  Again, I reminded myself that he thought I was deviant.

I tightened my arms around myself and tried to reassure him, so he would leave.  “I’ll get the ward from Claude.  Things will work out.  I’ll be okay.”

My conversation was decidedly clipped.  I didn’t trust myself to say too much.  Any stray word had the potential to cause a crack in my unstable façade of self-control.  I had let Vince witness more than enough of my emotional breakdowns.  I didn’t need to give him further confirmation that not only was I a psychic freak, but I was also a complete emotional wreck.

“Somehow I don’t think I’ll be okay.”  He threw up his hands in a placating gesture.  “Not after all this.”

I nodded stiffly, and bit the inside of my cheek firmly.  I would not cry.  I would not cry.

“Lire…” he began, but stopped as an uncertain expression took over his face.

Not wanting to hear him tell me again how he needed some space, I didn’t give him the chance to fumble for words.  “Vince, I’ll survive.  I have before.  My life was always complicated, and now, well, now it’s worse than a freak show, but I’ll live.  Things will die down.  They’ll catch the murderer and then life will go back to normal.”

My life hadn’t been normal to begin with, and I knew things would never be the same again, but I had to get Vince to leave.  The longer he stayed, the more likely it was that the Invisius Verso fixers would make things worse for us.

“Promise you will call me if things get dicey.”

“I promise.”  Not.

His dark brows drew down and he looked at me doubtfully bere turning toward to the door.  He hesitated with his hand on the knob, just before leaving.  “When I figure out what is going on, I’ll call you.”

As soon as the door closed, the battle against my unwanted tears came to a sad, bitter end.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The next two days were emotionally excruciating as I waited for the other shoe to drop.  Every time the telephone rang or I had to call someone, I expected to receive bad news in the form of altered memories and ruined relationships.  Every uneventful hour that went by only raised my stress level even higher.  A sense of impending doom threatened my every thought and my imagination whittled incessantly at my sanity.  I was convinced that any minute the police were going to show up to arrest me on some trumped up charge, or that word was on its way from the IRS that I owed my entire fortune to the government, or some other horrible, life changing fabrication.  Red did his best to ease my mind, but he could only do so much to staunch my creative imagination.

Finally, on the afternoon of the second day, Claude called with word that my bracelet was done.  I hurried down to his apartment, worrying that despite the djinn and the building’s wards an assassin might be lurking along the way.

When Claude opened the door, I greeted him, and he shook his head with a pitying expression.  “Mon chérie.”  Without another word, he ushered me into his apartment and sat me down on his couch.  While I made myself comfortable, Claude carefully opened a package of psi-free gloves and slipped them on quickly.

“You are most distressed.  I can see.  You have the look of a caught mouse.”  He touched my cheek gently with a gloved finger to soften his words.  Although he excelled at the role of playboy and irrepressible flirt, it was apparent that he cared about me too.

With a reassuring wink, he said, “This will help.”

He picked up a small black pouch from the coffee table.  Opening it revealed a fine, delicate looking bracelet made from a braided material.  It shimmered slightly, as if woven from silver thread.  He draped the bracelet over my wrist, deftly manipulating the clasp in spite of the gloves.

“It was not easy, but the challenge I do enjoy.”  He glanced at me quickly with one rakishly raised eyebrow.

As soon as the clasp caught, the bracelet seemed to shrink to fit my wrist and I felt a tremor of magic cascade over my skin.  The feeling was not unpleasant, but it sent a tingling sensation along the surface of my entire body, like an extreme case of goose bumps.

My eyes must have gotten big because Claude laughed and reassured me that what I was feeling was normal.  “Do not worry, chérie.  This feeling of strangeness will not last.  Soon it will not be noticed, you will see.  But while it does, it will make you think of my loving embrace, no?”  He smiled devilishly.

I laughed and bit my lip.  “I would think of no other, Claude.”  I smiled affectionately at him before focusing on the bracelet.  “Is there anything I shouldn’t do?  Can anything break the spell?  It looks so delicate.”

Claude chuckled.  He held up my hand so the bracelet dangled from my wrist and tapped it with his finger.  “No, chérie.  It has the look of, uh, how do you say?  Spun glass?  But, no, it is tough as the nail.  My spell is très puissant.  Oui.  Very powerful.  It cannot be broken, nor can one remove it without your permission.  But, mon amie, this is très important…if you choose to remove it, the spell will br.  Tu comprends?”

“So…I am the only one who can remove it.  But if I do, the spell will break,” I repeated.

Claude nodded and his thick hair moved smoothly with the motion.  “Oui.”  He lowered my hand, but continued to hold it and gave it a squeeze.  “Now, is there anything else I can do for you?  I have the feeling you are the lady in distress.”

He expressed his concern without any leering, which was unusual.  Occasionally, Claude allowed me to see past his hedonistic facade, and it was always a treat.  Although Claude had hinted that I knew him better than anyone else outside of his family, I realized that the true Claude had yet to be completely revealed to me.

I shook myself.  It was hardly the time to ponder Claude's puzzling personality, so I shifted my thoughts to consider his offer of help.  I wished fleetingly that I had a bracelet for every one of my friends, coworkers, and family, but I knew it was impossible.  It took Claude two full days to make the talisman and required God knows how much of his energy and special ingredients.  A ward this powerful was a rare and generous gift.  Besides, it would only protect someone from a distance.  Most of my friends and family had no means of protection from a telepath touching them directly.  I, on the other hand, had considerable deterrent options at my disposal to prevent direct skin contact.

I smiled sadly and shrugged.  “Well, maybe just a little distress.  But no, Claude, you have done more than enough already, and I fear for those who help me too much.”

“Bah!  I am not powerless, you know.”  He released my hand and pulled back the sleeve of his right arm.  “See?  I too take the precautions.”  A twin to my bracelet encircled his wrist.  “And if this does not…ah…take care of business, well, then there are other things.”  Claude’s eyes narrowed grimly.

I smiled and gave him a nod of understanding.  My eyes dropped again to the bracelet.  “It is not only a work of impressive magic but a work of art.”  Undoubtedly, Claude had saved me, and I told him so.  “Tu m'as sauvée.”

Claude assured me that it was a pleasure.  “C'est mon plaisir.  If you need anything else, you have but to ask.”  He fixed my eyes with a direct stare.  “Any time.  You know this.”

“Thank you, Claude, I am in your debt.  Truly.”  My tone was heartfelt, but serious, so he didn't misunderstand my intent.  Thankfully, he chose not to rise to the bait.

“Indeed, mon amie.  You have much to offer.  Things are at their darkest for you now, I can see.  But you are très puissant.  You will triumph.  I have no doubt.”  He said this with such conviction that I almost believed it.

Under other circumstances, I might have hung around longer to gossip and flirt, but with my mind weighed down by recent developments, I wasn't in the mood.  I was first to stand up.  Claude followed my lead, and then we began walking toward the door.  We said our goodbyes, and I left his apartment feeling more confident than I had in days.

When I got back upstairs, I commented to Red, “It still feels funny.  I didn’t want to ask Claude, but…you don’t think this will interfere with my, uh, other abilities?  Do you?”

Red cocked his head.  “I wouldn’t think so, but there’s only one way to be sure.  You should be practicing with your newly acquired powers anyway.  They will save you if you are attacked again.”

I made a small noise of exasperation at Red.  “And just how am I supposed to practice?  This isn’t exactly a firing range, you know.”

“Call on the djinn.  They did say they could help you with your powers.  I thought of suggesting it yesterday, but you were too distraught.  I decided it was best to wait until you were in more control of your emotions.”

I may have looked irritated, but I knew he was right.  To focus better, I closed my eyes and then thought about the nearly invisible mark between my eyebrows.  Instinctively, I knew that the djinn’s mark was a psychic conduit.  I could use it to call on them with my mind.  The binding was how Tanu was instantly alerted to my trouble the other day when I lost control in the conference room.  I focused on the psychic link and thought toward the djinn.

“Could it be that the Lire requires the service of the djinn?”

I opened my eyes to see both djinn coalescing in the center of my living room.

“Uh, yes.  Hello Tanu.  Maya.  Uh, well, I was hoping that you might help me hone my new powers.  If you have the time, that is.”  My feelings had changed considerably toward the two djinn, but I was still a little daunted by their presence.

The two entities swirled around each other with what I took to be excitement.  Their corpulent, nebulous forms trailed wisps of heather grey mist along the floor as they surrounded me with their slow churning dance.  The vapor temporarily interfered with my vision before suddenly clearing to form a misty rectangular enclosure that was approximately the same size as my living room and dining room put together.

I turned around to inspect the large empty area.  Vaguely, I was able to see the outline of my loft through the hazy spectral walls of the enclosure, but I was unable to see my furniture.

“Whoa.”  I laughed, a little nervously.  “What did you just do?  Where is all my furniture?”

One of the djinn appeared inside the space.  “The Lire’s belongings are still here, only set aside.  The Lire should not worry.  The djinn keep her things safe.”

I nodded, but wished for a better understanding of how the djinn manipulated our world.  I wondered at the extent of their powers.

“This will do nicely.”  Red appeared from the kitchen side of the enclosure.  His body seemed to push through the cloudy wall without difficulty.

“I guess.  But, what should I do?”  I turned toward the djinn in time to see it suddenly pop out of existence.

At almost the same moment, from the corner of my eye I saw a dark shape break through the misty wall from the direction of my front door.  I realized with unmitigated alarm that it was the cloaked figure of the murderer.

I gasped as a shock wave of adrenalin rushed through my body and sent blaring warning bells to my extremities.  The fight or flight instincts fought for control of my brain.  I lost precious seconds before I staggered backwards and attempted to get control of myself.  Terrified, futile thoughts bounced around inside my head.  How did he get into the building?  Why aren't the djinn doing anything?  Did the building’s wards fail?  Maybe Paimon wiped out the wards and neutralized the djinn.  Why is this happening to me?

The figure laughed with evil intent.  I saw him reach into his pocket and withdraw a white handkerchief as he strode menacingly toward me.

“No!” I screamed toward the figure and without thinking, lashed out with Trinity’s cold power.

Frigid air exploded into the area between me and the murderer with a resounding crack.  Instantly, the air coalesced into a thick wall of ice that reached all the way to the ceiling and asr past the misty walls as I could manage.  Frantically, I searched nearby for Red and found him to my right.  Effortlessly, I levitated him to my shoulder.

I shifted my focus back to the murderer in time to watch a blast of fire coat the opposite surface of the ice wall.  Deep fissures snaked through the ice with ear piercing pops and cracks.  Before the icy barrier had a chance to break apart, I threw out both hands in a pushing gesture and used Jason’s power to grapple with it.  With all of my power I pushed against the ice, which lurched and then smashed into the dark figure.  The force drove the warlock backwards and caused his fire to falter.  I applied more force to the top of the wall, in an effort to topple the whole massive edifice on top of him.  The wall began to tip over.  However, instead of crushing the murderer as I had hoped, it broke into thousands of large and small chunks of ice that flew out in all directions.

I wrapped my head with my arms and bent over as the chunks of ice pelted me and the floor around me.  A chunk the size of a softball glanced off my shoulder and drove me to my knees before I remembered to use Jason’s power to repel the deadly missiles.  I quickly realized that if I concentrated, I was able to sense the objects flying toward me and redirect them to the side.

The cloaked figure had regained his stature and was using his mind to levitate ice chunk after ice chunk toward my head.  The large pieces of ice smashed all around me as I deflected them.  After a few moments, instead of simply deflecting the missiles, I redirected them toward the murderer’s head.  His progression was slowed, but I noticed that he was still holding the damn handkerchief.  I regained my feet and madly tried to think of a way to incapacitate the intruder.  We shared the same powers.  How was I supposed to beat him?

Frantically, I wondered whether it was possible to use two or more of my powers at the same time.  While I continued to repel the catapulting ice chunks, I sought Patty’s power, this time without the driving anger.  It nearly made me giddy with delight.  Both Patty’s and Trinity’s powers coursed through my body in a dizzying combination.  I realized that both of their gifts were just two sides of the same coin—the yin and yang of temperature manipulation—and did not cancel each other out, like I had initially imagined.  Using both powers in tandem was definitely possible and it gave me an idea.

First, I set about fashioning a weapon by using the incoming icy missiles from the murderer as raw material.  Feeling rushed and awkward, yet empowered by the confluence of the two powers, I quickly formed the chunks into something that resembled a large icicle.  It wasn’t the javelin I had imagined, but it was better than nothing.  I didn't waste time lamenting my sad results.  The murderer began closing the distance between us, now that my ice barrage had temporarily stopped.

Desperately rushed, I leveled a jet of blue, hot flame at the dark clad assailant, and immediately followed it with the sharpened javelin of ice.  Jason’s power was key in launching both the jet of fire and the icy arrow with deadly speed.

I almost laughed at how perfectly the three psychic phenomenon complemented each other.  Unfortunately, my performance wasn’t terribly effective.  The javelin broke apart before impaling the warlock.  I did notice, however, that the deadly combination forced him to retreat several paces.  Feeling more confident, I repeated the same process, using chunks of ice from the floor.

My skill improved.  This time I created a more deadly javelin.  The heat I pulled from the air when I created the ice javelin was easily transformed into the jet of fire.  It was a two-for-one deal.  I had the ability to supplnt both powers with almost unlimited energy.  As a bonus, Jason’s power magnified the speed at which I was able to transmit the super-heated air, not to mention the javelin.  All three powers working together provided me with a staggering arsenal of magic weaponry.

I blasted the warlock with wave after wave of fire and ice, improving my performance each time.  Now that I was feeling more confident and the murderer was in full retreat, I spared some thoughts about how he made it past the building’s wards.

Finally, I realized that the djinn had not been neutralized after all.

I grunted with recognition and halted the psychic barrage.  “Okay.  It took me a while to finally figure it out, but I got it.  Thank you, Maya and Tanu.”

The assailant dissolved into the familiar grey form, and the remaining ice vaporized in an instant.

“You scared the crap out of me, but it served its purpose.  I couldn’t have asked for a better test.”  I unceremoniously sat down on the floor.  My body was shaking from the intoxicating mix of terror, excitement, and power.

The misty room dissolved and I found myself sitting next to the coffee table in the middle of my living room.  Again, I marveled at the extent of the djinn’s powers.

“The djinn are here to serve the Lire.  The Lire can control the powers.”  Both djinn were swirling near the patio doors and the light coming through the panes cast interesting shadows through their churning forms.  “Could it be that she is no longer afraid?”

“Um, well, no longer afraid of the fire, at least.”  I sighed.  “The murderer…well, that’s a different story.”

“The blood-bound Lire has the power,” the left djinn declared.

“The human Lire is capable,” said the one on the right.

“The Lire will call on the djinn again,” they said together.

“Yes.”  I smiled and stood up from the table.  “And the djinn may call on Lire.”

The two entities appeared to shiver excitedly and then quickly spun around me before disappearing from view.

I walked over to the family room couch with Red still perched on my shoulder and plunked myself into a sitting position on the center cushion.  Red sprang down and toddled to the arm of the couch where he sat to look at me.

I relaxed down into the cozy chenille.  “Well, the bracelet is still making my skin tingle, so I guess the other powers didn’t mess it up.”

“Was there really any doubt?”

I snorted.  “I suppose not.  Claude knows his stuff, but I didn’t exactly announce that I’ve gained three new abilities either.  It’s not something I’ll be advertising, you know.”  I couldn’t help but think of Vince's reaction after he witnessed my powers and physically cringed at the memory.  “You should have seen the expression on Vince’s face.”

After a moment of feeling horrible, I slammed my fists down on the cushions.  “Dammit!  I am not a freak!  I did not choose for this to happen!  And I am sick of feeling like I need to bury my head in the sand!”

Red regarded me silently.  I crossed my arms fiercely and pushed my back deeper into the couch.  Sulking didn’t accomplish anything, but it felt good.

“Have you stopped to think that perhaps Vince also feels like a freak?”  He paused while I considered his words.  “Two weeks ago, Vince was a magi-phobic detective in a repressed police department.  Now multiple sources have told him that he has Sidhe blood and possi several unknown magical abilities.  That knowledge, combined with witnessing your own struggle to assimilate and control your new magical talents, has given him much to consider.”

I sighed loudly, determined to feel wretched.  “Yeah.  And if it weren’t for me he wouldn’t be considering any of this stuff at all.”

Red did not indulge in any of my self-pity.  “No.  If it weren’t for the murderer, Vince wouldn’t have these things to consider.  He’d still be repressed and you’d be shy three new, tremendously useful talents.”  Red walked over to me and looked up into my face.  “So, are you through feeling sorry for yourself?”

“Probably not.”  I sighed.  “But I’ll get over it.  Eventually.”

After a moment, I sat up straight and rested my elbows on my thighs.  “It’s time to get back to work.  I’ve had enough of hiding out.”

“I agree.”

I regarded my fuzzy companion.  “Red, even with my powers and this bracelet, I’m still afraid.  Daniel knew some of the details of the prophecy.  It evolved over time, but the diviners all agreed that the murderer and I will meet in conflict, face to face.  Daniel didn’t know where or under what circumstances or even when—all he knew was that we will eventually meet and that only one of us will survive.”  My voice cracked with emotion.  “I don’t want to end up like the others.  There are so many things I haven’t done or seen…”

Red waved his stuffed arm for emphasis.  “You are well aware of the limitations of divinations.  Just one minor change to the timeline, something as simple as tripping on your way out the front door, can have an immense effect later in time.  There is no way to know whether the newest prophecy will hold true.  Even if you and the murderer do meet, there is no guarantee that the end result will mean your death or even the murderer’s death.  The statement that 'only one will survive' can be interpreted in different ways.  It may indeed mean that one of you will die, or it may mean that only one of you will survive to live life freely, or that only one of you will survive intact and the other may be forever changed, either mentally, physically or spiritually.  Until it comes to pass, there is no way to know for certain what the future will bring.”

“I know these things!  But it doesn’t make me feel any better.  I’m still scared.”

Red touched my arm.  His soft fur triggered an involuntary shiver that was followed by a healthy case of goose bumps, and I felt the hair at the back of my neck stand at attention.  I looked down at him and placed my hand on top of his paw.

“No matter what happens, Lire, I will be with you.  We will get through this together.”

With moist eyes, I nodded and scooped him up in my arms.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Red and I agreed that it was best to take a taxi to work, instead of asking one of my friends or coworkers to pick me up.  My car was still sitting in front of ST&C where I left it when Daniel stopped by to screw up my world.  Until I knew things were okay and that my friends and family were safe, I planned to keep to myself as much as possible and not go out of my way to ask for help.

I stepped nervously into the elevator and groused, “Freaking Daniel.  Not only did he bring me bad news and embroil me in the politics of his stupid club, but it’s his fault that my car is stuck at work.”

Red didn’t respond to my gripe.  In the shiny doors of the elevator, I could see the reflection of his head just peeng out of my black shoulder bag.  We set up the perch earlier in the morning—so that he might warn me of anything nefarious that approached me from behind—and I wore a black coat and sweater so that his head didn’t stand out so starkly.  This was the meager extent of our preparations, and I felt like a hermit crab without its shell.

It was 9:15 and the ride to the lobby was uninterrupted.  I sighed and readied myself for the unprotected world beyond the front doors of my building.  Fear churned the inside of my stomach and fretted my already frazzled nerves.

The taxi waited at the curb out front, and I think I was fairly calm making my way from the glass doors of the lobby to the interior of the taxicab.  At least I didn’t break into a panicked run.  As I pulled the car door closed and settled into the back seat, I told the driver my destination in a slightly breathless voice.  His heavy lidded brown eyes briefly regarded me in the rear view mirror before he pulled into traffic.  I made an effort to slow my breathing and calm my anxious nerves, but I wasn’t too successful.

Every time the taxi stopped in traffic, I focused on using my peripheral vision to simultaneously keep tabs on both sides of the car while I looked out the front windshield.  Once again, I cursed Daniel silently for the circumstances that left me without the protection of my armored car.  Although Daniel felt certain that the physical attempt on my life was not the act of his organization, I didn’t understand how he could be so sure.  I didn’t see the distinction between a physical hit and a mental one.  Once they made the decision to harm me, what difference did it make how it was done?  How could Daniel be so sure that the telepathic hit squad wouldn’t resort to whatever means were at their disposal?  Who is to say that they hadn't brainwashed some petty thug to steal the car and run me over?  Of course there was the possibility that the hit and run wasn’t deliberate and I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.  If that was the case, then maybe I didn’t have as much to worry about.

I continued to speculate about the hit and run as the taxi wove through morning traffic.  By the time we arrived at ST&C my thoughts were spinning like a whirligig on a windy day.

The parking lot was less than half-full with a majority of the cars parked in front of the coffee shop three doors down.  My car was still parked in front of the office and Jack’s red Audi was next to it.  Seeing Jack’s car parked next to mine comforted me.  God knows why.  Jack certainly wasn't a martial arts master, much less magically inclined, but it made me feel better nevertheless.

The driver pulled the taxi into the empty spot next to Jack’s car while I removed my seat belt.  I heard him shift into park as I focused on finding the wallet that was hiding in my purse.

“That’s $9.50.”  His voice was gruff.  Mr. Congeniality.

“Uh, okay.”  I rifled through the cash in my wallet and tried to get my brain to figure out a decent tip.

I collected the necessary bills into a neat stack and then thrust my hand between the front seats toward the driver.  He was turned toward me, but didn’t immediately make a move to retrieve the money.  Instead, his head seemed to fall forward, as if he was fighting the urge to sleep.

Whoa, I thought to myself.  Is he drunk?  Thank God I’m getting out!

“Uh, sir.”  I pushed my fare further through the space between the two front seats and raised my voice.  “Here you go.”  I waved the money to get his attention.

The driver seemed to struggle with lifting his head and I was alarmed to notice that his eyes were completely rolled upward in his skull.  All I could see were the whites of his eyes, which contrasted disturbingly against his dark brown skin.

My hand faltered.  “Sir!  Are you okay?”

Yes, it was a stupid question because he clearly wasn’t okay, but my adrenalin was shooting panic signals through my brain without offering any sensible course of action.  I froze with my hand still extended into the front seat and tried to figure out what to do.

I closed my hand around the money to keep it from flying around the front of the car and then used the side of my clenched fist to firmly nudge the driver’s arm.  “Sir!  Sir!  Do you need help?”

The driver grunted and raised his head slightly toward my voice, but his eyes were half closed and he still didn’t look normal.

I started to panic.  It was apparent that he wasn’t simply sleepy, and I didn't think he was drunk either.  Maybe he was having a seizure.  I didn’t know anything about epilepsy or seizures and had no clue how long a seizure could last, or even whether they were physically harmful.  I knew that it was possible for someone having a seizure to bite off their own tongue.  Just where I learned this grisly detail, I had no idea, but I think it was common knowledge.  Maybe I picked it up in elementary school.  It seemed like a tidbit that kids would use to gross each other out.  Thankfully, I didn’t see the driver’s tongue sticking out of his mouth or any blood.  Even so, the time for dithering was over.

“Okay, uh, I’m calling 9-1-1!”

I pulled my hand back and threw the now wadded money down by my feet, so I could freely look for my mobile telephone in my purse.  Another grunt from the driver caught my attention, and I watched as he raised his head.  His eyes opened wide and he was obviously trying to focus.  I hoped fervently that he was coming back to his senses.

“Oh my gosh!  Are you okay?  I can still call for medical attention.  Sir?”

The driver emitted a rough sound that might have been a chuckle, and his brown eyes regarded my face with a distant expression.  He barked, “Sit back and calm yourself.”  Even though his voice was raspy and his modulation was irregular, he still managed to sound haughty, even condescending.

I tried not to be offended by his rude demeanor, but it was difficult, especially considering the fact that I was just trying to help.  Appalled, I stared at the small smirk on his lips and resolved to telephone his cab company with a sternly worded complaint.  I had the distinct impression that he was going to be defensive about his seizure and not tell anyone.  It was just pure luck that he hadn’t been driving when all this happened, the jerk.

“I’ll calm down when I’m the hell out of this taxi.”  I bent down to gather up the bills that I had tossed onto the floor.

He laughed richly.  “Undoubtedly.  But we have a few things to discuss, first.  Unfortunately, my preferred way of getting your attention was not available to me.”

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled uneasily and my stomach was instantly flooded with sparks of alarm.  I played dumb, with the hope that it would buy me some time to escape the car.  “You know, whatever seizure you're having knocked a few screws loose.  I suggest you see a doctor immediately.”  I threw the fare onto the front passenger seat, grabbed my purse and then reached for the door handle.

“If you don’t want me to send this car crashing into your office, possibly killing people in the process, I suggest you sit back and listen.”  The driver bit off each syllable of the last word, so that there was no misunderstanding what he wanted.

My stomach plummeted as I paused with my hand on the door handle and regarded the driver with wide, terrified eyes.

“You are wearing protection.  Someone in your building made you a ward of some kind, perhaps?”  He sighed and made a waving gesture with his hand.  “So, I was not able to discuss things with you in a more intimate manner.  Mind to mind, as it were.”

My initial terror turned instantly to anger.  “You know, this is such utter crap!  I did what you guys wanted!  I stopped helping the police.  So now you need to hold up your side of the bargain and leave me alone!”

I felt the tingling sensation of magic stirring inside my core and had to deliberately keep it in check.  It was definitely a bad idea to show the Invisius twerps the extent of my new powers, especially since they seemed to think it factored so keenly into their damned prophecy.

The swarthy driver laughed and it sent uneasy shivers down my spine.

“They got to you, did they?  I knew they would.  I told you so, didn’t I?  I told you we would end up on the same side.”  The man laughed.  “No, Lire.  Invisius wouldn’t take over a middle-aged, fat taxi driver to speak with you.  No.  They’d just walk up to the car, open the door, and get things done—physically, now that you have that trinket.  All they’d have to do is hold you down and touch you.  Really.  It’s not much of a deterrent for them, but I suppose it makes you feel better.  Doesn’t it?”

Much to my irritation, he laughed richly again.  I didn't know whether to be relieved or even more terrified, now that it was apparent that the taxi driver was controlled not by an Invisus telepath but by Brian Stalzing, the murderer.  My insides clenched as I wondered if the prophesied moment of confrontation was upon me.  Was I about to die?

“What do you want, Brian?”  I tried to control the whirling emotions and jolts of magic that threatened to overcome my rational thoughts.  I needed to calm down and be at the top of my game.  I scolded myself, Stay cool and think!

“Ah.  Down to the nitty-gritty, is it?  No more small talk?  Have it your way.”

The driver examined his fingernails for a moment.  It gave me the creeps thinking that this poor guy’s personality had been shoved aside to make room for Brian’s corrosive thoughts.  I wondered if the driver was in there, helpless, forced to watch as the murderer spoke to me and unable to do anything to stop his body from obeying the will of this psychic intruder.

The driver’s vacant brown eyes regarded me again.  “What I want is to break the prophecy.  You know as well as I do that visions of the future are fragile.  The smallest change in the present can drastically alter them, which is why diviners have to constantly revise their predictions.  The Invisius diviners do so continuously.  Not an hour goes by without an announcement from their inner sanctum.  At critical moments, there is a literal frenzy of corrections—minute by minute, blow by blow accounts of the future."

In a more calm tone, he implored, “We can choose to go against the prophecy, you and I.  Let us join forces against Invisius.  Their evil needs to end.  You know that as well as I do.  Daniel feels the same way.  I know.  We’re friends.”

I must have looked doubtful because the puppeteer forced the driver to nod his head.  “Yes.  Good friends.  He told me about how he was taken from you, from everything he held dear, against his will, just as I was taken from my own home.”

Almost withou thinking, I tipped my chin in acknowledgement.  What else was I supposed do?  I had no idea how I was going to play my hand until I knew what cards were being dealt, so it was necessary to go along with him.  Certainly, I couldn’t allow Brian to crash the car into the building.  I decided to sit tight and continue listening.

The driver inclined his head in a querying gesture.  “Did you know that Invisius makes it a practice to alter the minds of every student’s family?  They implant the memory of the student’s death into their minds!  Every Invisius student is an orphan!  My parents, my sisters, and all my friends were strategically brain wiped to believe that I was killed in a random car crash.  There is even a gravestone with my name on it that my parents visit every week.  Every student has a gravestone somewhere.  Hundreds of families suffered.”  His eyes narrowed with anger.  “It is unforgiveable!”

Brian closed the driver’s eyes briefly and took a deep breath.  He continued, subdued, “From the moment I was forced into their ranks, I hated them.  Most of the other students couldn't stand up to the indoctrination.  The weaker ones all forgot about their families.  The instructor’s mind probes were strong and relentless, but I was stronger.  I was able to keep my feelings secret, as was Daniel and a few others.  But,” he sighed loudly.  “I was the only one who had the guts to take them on.”

My emotions got the better of me and I spoke before thinking through my response.  “And you think that I’m just going to forget about the fact that you murdered someone I loved?  Or that I want a murderer in control of something as powerful and dangerous as Invisius?”

“History has proven that sometimes sacrifices must be made for the greater good.  Do you think that the hundreds of families that lost their children to Invisius grieve any less than you?  Hundreds!  Hundreds of loving parents believe that their children are dead!  And there have been hundreds more before them.  It's been going on for centuries!  I'm trying to stop this needless cruelty."  The driver's expression showed considerable disgust, and he regarded me with serious eyes.  "The leaders of Invisius are arrogant.  They believe that they are untouchable.  Until now, they have been.  They’ve been operating with impunity.  You’ve seen for yourself the damage that they cause.  God help you if you happen to get in their way.  For someone with no means of protection, there is no hope.  You yourself are under their scrutiny.  They have altered your life more than you know, and I don’t just mean their attempt to run you over with a car.”

The driver raised an eyebrow at my confused expression.  “Didn’t it strike you as strange that your mother had such a big change of heart before she died?  Or your sister?  You didn’t find it strange that after scorning you and your ability for nearly thirty years, she’d suddenly go to work for one of the most renowned attorneys for paranormal rights?”  He made a condescending clucking sound with his tongue.  “No, Lire.  Invisius has been playing you, ever since you came to their attention.  They’ve been orchestrating and manipulating the minds of your friends and family to make sure that you would not become involved in their business.”  The driver gave me a pointed look that dared me to disagree.

Incredulous, I gaped, “What!  That’s ludicrous!  For what possible reason would they alter my mother’s and my sister’s minds?  What did it get them?”

The driver shook his head pityingly.  “You left town, did you not?  It got you out of the way for three days.  Remember, even minute changes in the present can radically alter the future.  Not only were you out of the way, but your mind was occupied with otheings as well.”

I slumped back into the taxi seat, as though the wind had been knocked out of me.  Thoughts of my mother and sister whirled through my consciousness like a pinball ricocheting around the inside of my head.  I covered my face with my hands and screamed something senseless.  “No!  Dammit!  I don’t want to know this!  I just want to be left alone!”

“That won’t happen, Lire.  No matter how many times you might wish it.  The die has been cast.  Do you think that you aren’t being followed and watched, even as we speak?  They have been watching you for weeks.”

That got my attention.  I quickly pulled my face out of my hands and sat up straight as I scolded myself for appearing so pathetic.  Of course, it might be to my advantage to appear powerless and weak.

Brian rotated the driver's body so that he was facing the steering wheel and then looked down the sidewalk.  He nodded in the direction of the coffee shop.  “They are there, inside, watching us.  Biding their time.”  His eyes caught mine in the rear view mirror.  “The prophecy tells them that only one of us will survive and that the survivor will cause significant changes to their leadership.  So, they will watch and wait to see who comes out on top.  They will not draw undue attention to themselves before that time."  He laughed.  "They are fools.”

I slapped my hand on my thigh in frustration.  “This is so ridiculous!  What could I possibly do to them?  Or to you for that matter?  I’m a clairvoyant, not a superhero!  How can they possibly think that I am any threat to them?”  I desperately hoped that Brian was unaware of my additional abilities.

Through the driver's eyes, I felt Brian's penetrating gaze.  He regarded me for a moment before saying, “There is a reason for your involvement.  Their relentless pursuit of you makes that much clear.  And that's why I want us to combine our forces.  It will send not only a psychic message to their leadership, but also a psychological one.  Can you imagine the uproar it will cause in their ranks when they see we have joined together?”  He laughed uproariously.

His maniacal laughter was the final straw.  I wanted nothing to do with this crazy scumbag.  No matter how deserving his crusade might be, I just couldn’t justify fighting evil with evil means.  Sacrifices must be made!  Spare me.  He might be pitching teamwork and spouting righteousness, but there was no doubt in my mind that this battle was all about Brian and his sociopathic quest for power.

“I don’t want any part of this absurdity.  I don’t want to join forces with anyone!  I’m not teaming up with you and I’m not having anything to do with them either.  Go have your palace revolution without me.  If you think you can kill me, fine, take your shot.  If the Invisius jerk-offs want to bring it on, fine.  But until they make a move against me, I’m ignoring all of this shit.”  My eyes narrowed menacingly.  “But listen closely, Brian.  If you take any steps toward me or my friends, you will regret it.”  I allowed Patty's fire to flit at the end of my index finger and then leveled it at him.  “Stay away from me and mine, and I’ll stay away from you.  That’s the deal.”

The driver sighed, seemingly unimpressed with my small display of power.  “Well, don’t say I didn’t try to do things the nice way.”

Before he could put the taxi into gear, I used Jason’s power to turn off the ignition and remove the keys from the steering column.  The keys flew into my hand as I shouldered open the car door and jumped out.

“Son of a bitch!”  I slammed the car door shut and quickly backed away from the carr.  “We, this is just freaking great!  What the hell am I supposed to do now?  He’s not going to take no for an answer, is he?”

“Judging by his past and present behavior, I’d say no,” Red answered.

“Dammit!  What should I do?”  I moved around the back of Jack’s car in the direction of my own car.

The sound of a door opening brought my attention to the taxi.  I watched as the driver got out and started walking toward my office.  With a sinking feeling of horror, I realized that he was carrying a crowbar.

“God!  No!  He has a weapon.  He’s heading toward the office!”

What now?  I couldn’t do anything that would hurt the driver; he was just an innocent bystander.  How was I supposed to put the driver out of commission without hurting him?  First things first, I decided—I had to get the crowbar away from him.  Frantically, I ran through a list of the methods that were at my disposal.  I could heat the crowbar, but I was certain that Brian would be able to distance himself from the pain.  I’d end up burning the driver’s hand to a crisp and still not get him to drop the crowbar.  Ice would only cause the driver’s hand to freeze shut and cause the opposite of what I wanted.

I guessed that Brian couldn’t use his mind control and all of his newly acquired powers at the same time.  So far, all he was doing was control the taxi driver.  Desperate, I used my new power to turn the deadbolt on the glass door.  It was a futile gesture, but I needed to stall for time.  Then, I focused my entire attention on the crowbar and attempted to pull it out of the driver’s grasp.  As soon as Brian felt my power yank the crowbar, he made the driver grip it tightly with both hands.  I redoubled my efforts, which whipped the driver around in different directions as he fought like hell to hold on.  After half a minute of intense flailing, my method had only succeeded in burning a bunch of energy.  I changed tactics.  Instead of focusing on the crowbar, I turned my power to each of the driver’s fingers and tried to pry them loose.  When I heard a finger go ‘crunch’, I immediately stopped further attempts on that track.

The driver’s head swung robotically toward my direction as Brian’s calculating smile played across the driver’s lips.  The expression was purely for my benefit and his despicable behavior made me more than a little angry.  His blatant disregard for human life turned my stomach.  Brian did not care in the least about the driver’s welfare, and that answering smile told me that he was more than willing to use it against me.

With my power no longer hampering his movement, the driver turned toward the office and yanked on the door.  Immediately realizing that the door was locked, he used the crowbar to break the glass.  The sound of the crowbar hitting the glass door sounded more like a loud, dull thump than a huge crash, which surprised me.  When the crowbar hit, the tempered glass instantly split into hundreds of small, vein like cracks throughout the entire pane, but did not fall apart.  Inside the office, I thought I heard Monica scream, followed by the crackling sound of dozens of small, blunted shards of glass falling to the ground.  It was only going to take another good wallop with the crowbar to open a hole large enough for the driver to reach through and unlock the door’s deadbolt.

While Brian had his puppet wind up for another blow, I continued to think of ways to stop him without hurting the driver.  It wouldn’t be long before someone noticed all the commotion and added more fuel to the fire by trying to intervene.  I had to think of some way to stop Brian!  But how?

As the crowbar hit the glass for a second time, I focused on the thehoe laces and used my powers to tie them together as tightly as possible.  I know!  Lame!  But give me a break, I was grasping at straws.

Red yelled from my purse, “Lire!  Just pick him up!  What are you doing?”

I didn't take the time to chastise myself for being so stupid.  Immediately, I used my power to pick up the taxi driver and move him away from the front door.  Red's suggested tactic was effective and timely.  As soon as I yanked the driver and his deadly weapon away, Jack appeared at the battered, cracked door with an alarmed expression and, I swear, a fire extinguisher readied for battle.

“Jack!”  I ran to close the distance to the driver while my mind stayed focused on keeping the struggling driver under control.  “Jack!  It’s the murderer!  You need to get out of there now!  Get everyone in the office and run out the back door!  Run!”

I reached the sidewalk just in time to see the driver's body go slack, still under my firm control, and hoped that my restraint hadn't caused him permanent damage.  My stomach clenched with foreboding as I looked up at Jack and realized why the driver had suddenly collapsed.

Jack laughed and it made my skin crawl because it wasn’t his laugh.  He unlocked the door and stepped out onto the glass-covered sidewalk.  “I have a question for you, Lire.  What do you think will happen to Jack’s future if I just take this handy item and use it to bash this guy’s head in?”

The murderer, now controlling Jack’s body, gestured with the fire extinguisher canister.  “He’s so immobile.  How do you think the police will feel about that?  Or, maybe I could find another innocent bystander to brutalize.  What do you think?”

I thought he was a crazy son of a bitch, but I restrained myself from saying so.  Instead, I gently lowered the driver to the sidewalk and then faced Jack, keeping a watchful eye on the fire extinguisher.  I readied myself, in case Brian decided to use it on me or anyone else.  Over Jack's shoulder, I glanced into the lobby and was relieved to see that it was empty.  So far, nobody else had noticed our battle by proxies, and I hoped it stayed that way.  The lack of public interest was surprising, especially considering the fact that the entrance to a crowded cafe was within line’s sight.  This inattention probably wasn’t a coincidence, but I didn’t spare the time to think about it.  I focused my attention on Jack and how I might protect him from Brian.

It occurred to me that all of my efforts so far had been to treat the symptoms and not the disease.  If I wanted things to go back to normal, I needed to deal directly with Brian.  It disturbed me greatly, but I wasn’t able to come up with any other solution.  I had to find a way to neutralize Brian.  I didn’t relish the thought of killing him and certainly didnt want to die, but if I didn’t face Brian down, people were going to get hurt.

I looked down at the driver and tried to deflect the conversation since Brian wasn’t making any threatening moves at the moment.  “Why is he unconscious?  Does controlling someone do permanent damage?”

Jack regarded the prone driver briefly.  “No.  He’ll come to in a while, no worse for wear.  Except for that broken finger, I suppose.  Of course, whether his own psyche is able to handle what just happened, I couldn’t tell you.”

I shook my head and sighed with resignation.  “Okay, Brian.  You win.  Let Jack go and I’ll do whatever you want.”

Jack smiled broadly.  “That’s more like it.  You just needed proper motivation.”  He gestured toward my car.  “Get in.  You’re driving.”

“First, let Jack go.  I want to see that he will be okay.  Use the driver if you have to.”  It felt horribly wrong telling Brian to invade the driver’s mind again, but I didn’t want Jack to be hurt.  Brian’s power over me was absolute as long as Jack remained under his control.

“I think not.  Not yet, anyway.  When you get in the car, then I will consider releasing him.”

Damn!  What now?  I had nothing to bargain with.  If I refused to get into my car, Brian was going to escalate the situation and Jack was sure to suffer.  On the other hand, bringing Jack with me was probably going to place him at risk too.

“Fine!” I spat.

Remembering the taxi keys still clutched in my hand, I pitched them next to the driver's inert body, too angry and scared to feel bad about leaving him there unconscious.  As I stomped to my car, an unassailable sense of dread nestled into my thoughts.  I unlocked all the doors and slowly eased inside, keeping a close eye on Jack.  Turning slightly in the seat, I followed Jack’s progression along the passenger side.  Where was the murderer parked?  Was Jack going to get into the murderer’s car and continue his role as a hostage?  Or was he going to ride with me?  Through the windows, I monitored Jack’s slow, mechanical walk.  As he opened the back passenger door, my breath caught abruptly when I finally took notice of a dark figure already sitting in the back of my car, directly behind my seat.

My gaze alternated sharply between Jack’s movements and the person shrouded in the darkness of the back seat.  I jumped visibly when the car door slammed shut, but my mind felt frozen, all my thoughts and actions choked by fear.

Still speaking through Jack, the murderer said, “Yes, Lire.  I’ve been waiting for you.  It is remarkably easy to go unnoticed when people’s minds are so malleable.”

Suddenly, Jack’s eyes rolled up to show their whites and his body went completely slack.  I heard the extinguisher thump to the floor as he slumped heavily against the car door.  When I heard his head thunk loudly against the base of the window, a small, pitiful cry came out of my mouth.  My dear friend was being brutalized and I was powerless to do anything about it.  Anger and frustration rose into my throat, but I swallowed hard and refrained from throwing myself on top of the murderer and beating him senseless.  I knew it wouldn’t get me far and Jack would likely end up dead.

As if responding to my thoughts, Brian brandished a wicked looking knife.  “You are a smart girl, so I know it’s not necessary for me to go into great detail about how inadvisable it would be to use any of your powers against me.  Jack here is going to ensure that we arrive at our destination without incident.  If I get any sense that you are using your powers against me, I will not hesitate to deploy the knife, along with any other power at my disposal.  With just a thought, I can kill Jack quite easily.  The knife simply serves as a deadly reminder.”

While Brian spoke, in his nerve grating, arrogant manner, the double-edged, ceremonial dagger floated up from his hand and menacingly coasted toward Jack.  It came to a stop with the sharp tip just an inch away from Jack’s neck.

A heady cocktail of helplessness, frustration, and anger surged through my body and further compounded my terror.  I tried not to panic or act impulsively and reminded myself that Brian wanted Jack alive; otherwise, he no longer had a bargaining tool.  Brian had reason to worry.  I was a definite threat, and he needed Jack alive to keep me under his thumb.  That’s what I told myself.

“Now.  Start the car and head east on 90," Brian instructed.

Although this was my first in the flesh meeting with Brian, I was so furious and anxious that I hardly paid attention to picking out any details regarding his appearance.  I was too busy imagining myself beating his masked face into mulch.

I whipped my body back around to face the steering wheel and tried to get my terror fueled anger under control.  My fists clenched tightly while I closed my eyes and started counting to ten, but by the time I hit five it was obvious that the calming effort was a waste of time.  Still seething, I banged on the steering wheel with the sides of my fists before thrusting my car key into the ignition.

“Calm down, Lire.  It won’t do any of us any good to get into an accident.  Besides, dearest Jack isn’t wearing his seat-belt.”

In my head I uttered several expletives, but resigned myself to playing out the game of cat and mouse to its completion.  I put on my seatbelt before unwillingly exiting the parking lot and heading toward the freeway.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Red emerge from the opening of my purse, which was lying in the foot well of the front passenger seat.  My mind toyed with the possibility of levitating Red on top of Brian.  Red’s knock-back spell might very well zap him insensible, but I quickly realized that the process would take too long to prevent injury to Jack.  It could easily take a full second before Red made contact with Brian, plenty of time for him to drive the dagger into Jack’s neck or use his power to rip Red apart.  Alternatively, I could attempt to quickly freeze Brian's brain or squeeze shut the carotid artery, but I wasn't absolutely sure it was possible to incapacitate Brain before he had time to kill Jack.  The odds were not good and Jack’s life was at stake.  I needed to wait.

Red hesitated slightly before moving toward the driver side foot well.  I hoped that he had come to the same conclusion as me regarding our chances at launching an attack.  It took supreme effort, but I deliberately avoided watching Red’s movement and hoped fervently that he refrained from doing anything aggressive.  After a few moments, I felt Red’s paws rub against my left ankle as he concealed himself up my pant leg.  His fuzzy presence so close to me gave me some much needed confidence and comfort.  I thanked God numerous times for the fact that wide leg jeans were back in style.  Believe me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The nearly forty-five minute drive up Interstate 90 was agonizing as my mind went to battle against the uneasy, ominous silence emanating from the back seat.  I played through every horror filled scenario that came to mind a dozen times over, and the dire anticipation of the upcoming conflict only added to my terror driven anxiety.  To make matters worse, I realized that the cars around us were behaving oddly.

I assumed the first driver was lost and had slowed down to look for an address.  As our trip progressed, it became clear that Brian was using his telepathy to keep all the nearby cars away from us.  On the interstate, every car that I approached changed to the farthest lane and slowed down appreciably.  It was like traveling inside an invisible bubble the size of an empty football field.  I was willing to bet that Brian was altering their memories too, so that no one would remember our passing.

My morale reached a new low when we passed the exit for Chiliquitham.  I pictured Vince back at his desk and wondered what he was thinking, how he was feeling, what he was doing.  What kind of cases did he work on when murdering telepathic psychopaths weren’t causing mayhem in his town?  Would he miss me if I died?  I gripped the steering wheel tightly and scoldyself.  No.  I was not going there.  I was determined to survive, even if it meant killing Brian.  When this was over, I’d go back to fretting about my relationship with Vince, but until then, I needed to put it out of my mind.  Red must have sensed my mood because he gave my leg a firm squeeze.

Even though my mind was preoccupied, I did my best to keep track of the towns we passed.  As we continued east, the terrain went from lush evergreen foliage interspersed with large numbers of newly budding deciduous trees to windswept, sparse hills punctuated by scraggy junipers and woody brush.  The landscape looked bleak and harsh.  It didn’t help that it was yet another dismal, overcast day, although, fortunately it wasn’t raining.  The digital thermometer read 48 degrees.

When Brian instructed me to leave the interstate, I knew we were east of Kittitas by at least five miles, maybe more.  The exit was marked with a sign for the Ginkgo Petrified Forest State Park.  Heading away from the park, we drove another fifteen or so minutes along a desolate two-lane road.  The landscape didn’t improve.  Dismally, I noted that we hadn’t passed more than a couple cars since exiting the interstate.

I followed Brian's directions until the road came to a dead end, blocked by a concrete and metal barrier.  When Brian instructed me to park on the side of the road near the barricade, I drove onto the gravel shoulder and turned off the ignition.  No sooner had I palmed my keys did they whip out of my hand and fly into the back of the car.  There was an answering metallic clink as they smacked into Brian’s outstretched hand.  The smug squint of his eyes in the rear view mirror made me want to vomit.  Never in my life had I loathed anyone so much.  It was infuriating that all I could do about it was grit my teeth.  The unwelcome feeling of impotence was intensely frustrating and made me even more angry, but I held it in check…for later.

Being in an enclosed space, in such close proximity to such an odious person was nearly intolerable.  Almost before I knew it, I exited the car, levitated myself over the roof, and landed five feet from Jack’s closed door.  I stopped short of ripping the door off its hinges since I didn’t want to provoke Brian.  A brisk breeze buffeted my back and blew hair around my face.  I inhaled the cool, dusty wind deeply and steadied myself for the trial ahead.

The car door flew open and Jack’s limp body tumbled out.  I wasn’t surprised by Brian’s callous behavior and caught Jack with my power before he hit the ground.  Brian’s knife immediately followed Jack’s trajectory and hovered in the air near his throat.  I kept Jack very still, levitated just inches from the ground, and kept my eye on the sharp dagger.  The knife looked old, but obviously deadly.  It had a black handle carved with deep, decorative engravings and a wicked looking carbon colored blade.  Under other circumstances, I might have appreciated its beautiful craftsmanship.

My mind ran through possible actions.  Could I prevent the knife from cutting Jack if I quickly pulled his body out of the way?  Yes, but even if I did pull his body away from the knife, I still had to contend with the fact that Brian only had to send his power into Jack's brain to kill him.  The knife was just a reminder that Brian had the ability to kill Jack with a thought.

“Very nice.  You will carry him.  Down that trail.  He will remain unconscious until I decide otherwise.”  Brian floated effortlessly from the car’s interior and landed next to Jack’s body.  I noticed that the knife never wavered as he deftly commanded his body through the air.

Brian gestured sharply in the direction of a trail head, which was around the guardrail that marked the end of the paved roaday.  The opening to the trail was marked by a weathered, brown metal sign that read ‘IRON HORSE STATE PARK—JOHN WAYNE PIONEER TRAIL’.  The name of the trail sounded familiar.  I seemed to remember reading about it at some point, but there wasn’t time to dredge up the memory.  Before Brian got any more impatient, I turned my mind toward using my power keep Jack with me while I walked.

Jack’s body dipped and lurched, but I eventually figured out how to split my attention between physically walking and keeping Jack’s body moving at the same pace without plowing him into the ground or slicing his throat against the ever-present dagger.  It was disheartening and frustrating to have such feeble command of my inherited powers.  I wished that I had taken more time to experiment before leaving the safety of my apartment.

The trail was approximately twelve to fifteen feet wide, well maintained, and level.  It consisted mostly of gravel and hard packed dirt, pushing through a barren landscape of undulating, brush covered hills.  The sparse scenery was interrupted only by the occasional outcropping of craggy red rock.  Not a single man-made structure was visible in any direction, aside from the sporadic ‘NO MOTORIZED VEHICLES ALLOWED’ sign.  The wind continued to claw its way into the openings of my coat, and I shivered.

For the most part, the path’s bed was elevated above the terrain by a couple of feet, providing a good view of the surroundings.  Where the trail encountered the occasional hillock, the earth had been physically carved out to make room for the pathway.  I wondered whether the trail had once been an old railroad bed.  It seemed to go on ahead, straight and level, as far as I could see.

Brian followed some distance behind, but I didn’t spare a glance.  When I shifted my attention too far, Jack’s body had the tendency to bob toward the ground.  I figured Brian was back there, floating along, keeping his eye on me and the dagger because I didn’t hear his foot steps and the knife never strayed from the vicinity of Jack’s throat.

When we happened upon a large rock outcrop to the right of the path, some fifteen or twenty minutes later, Brian came in close to my ear and told me to make my way toward it.  I visibly startled at his silent, sudden closeness and he laughed in response.

“Go around to the backside.  Head to the right.”  Brian paused to watch me move off the path.

My stomach clenched with fear at the thought of being close to our final destination.  I knew that Brian had no intention of teaming up with me.  That was just a ploy to get me to go with him quietly without turning the parking lot in front of my office into a war zone.  Brian surely wanted me out of the picture, but why was he leading us out into the hills?  Why didn’t he just shoot Jack and me back at the side of the road?  There wasn’t a living soul around for miles.  In fact, now that I thought about it, Brian had passed up several opportunities to escalate the situation.  In the car, he could have easily touched my skin and tried to invade my mind.  It was almost as if he was afraid to get close to me.

I walked toward the large, oblong formation of rust-colored rocks.  The jagged outcrop was easily four times my height, one hundred feet wide, and half again as deep.  There was a vague, narrow path through the sparse vegetation that seemed to lead around the edge of the formation.  I followed it to the right, carefully pushing Jack along in front of me.  When we rounded the back side of the embankment, I was able to see a natural inlet into the wall of the rock formation.  It was an ideal place to set up a campsite because of the protection it offered from the incessant wind.  Of course, it wasn’t a campsite that I found when we finallyered the large inlet.  Nestled inside the protected walls of the rock outcrop was a partially completed magic circle.  My heart skipped a beat, even though it was hardly surprising.

At the moment, I didn’t sense any active magic.  The circle was incomplete, but the rune stones were in place, along with a thin, braided rope that delineated the circle’s circumference.

When I stopped to face Brian, he remained several body lengths away and eyed me malevolently.  “Get inside the circle.  Jack too.  And don’t think about tripping over the rope.  I might get so upset that the dagger slips.”

His demeanor was so superior and condescending that I wanted to spit in his face, but I clenched my teeth together and followed his instructions silently.  I steered Jack into the circle and placed his body gently on the dirt, a few feet from its edge.  When he was settled, I withdrew my power and then stepped over the rope.  As we played out Brian's little drama, my list of options grew smaller, but I had little choice.

I was surprised to realize that I wasn't completely despondent.  Brian was still keeping his distance.  That meant he viewed me as a potential threat, so there might be a possibility that I could wind up on top.  Spell casting was exacting—even more so when dealing with demons.  If Brian planned to raise Paimon, any number of things could go wrong, giving me an opportunity to make my move.  There were also many ways to mess with the warlock’s spells if I could provide a distraction.  Of course, a botched summoning was just as likely to be hazardous to me as well as anyone else, but I was resolved.  The most important thing was ridding the world of Brian’s evil, no matter what.  I was not going to allow Brian to take over Invisius Verso.  Power like that at his disposal would be catastrophic.  Even if it meant sacrificing my own life along with Jack’s, Brian had to be stopped.

As I reluctantly stepped over the rope, Brian muttered something unintelligible under his breath.  Immediately, my body vibrated with the snap of the circle closing around us.  However, instead of frightening me, which I'm sure Brian would have enjoyed, the circle’s closure strengthened my grim determination.

I folded my arms across my abdomen and waited with projected calm.  My insides were roiling with a confluence of powerful emotions, but years of schooling my face served me well.

Maybe Brian expected me to be hysterical or, at the very least, trembling with fear because his eyes narrowed suspiciously.  “You cannot hope to win, so don’t even try.  I will only release Jack…if you cooperate.”

Liar.  “I’m listening.”

“Sit down and submit to me.  If you refuse, I will kill dearest Jack and then strike you down in the most painful way possible…but I won’t kill you.  I’ll save that pleasure for Paimon.”

I almost rolled my eyes.  “Fine.”

There was no point in arguing, so I kept things short.  I sat down cross-legged on the dirt.  While I watched from the ground, two lengths of rope emerged from Brian’s cloak and darted toward me.

He commanded, “Turn around.  Now!  Put your wrists together, behind your back.”

I complied and immediately felt the rope wrap tightly, several times around my wrists and knot securely.

“Back around.  Put your legs out straight.  Put them together.”

Again, I did as he instructed and the second piece of rope deftly wound around my ankles.  It secured itself with a complicated knot.  The ropes were wrapped painfully tight, but I tried not to wince.  Soon enough they wouldback off.  Red gave my leg a comforting squeeze from inside my pant leg, and I willed myself to remain confident.

Now that the ropes were in place, Brian seemed to lose interest in me.  He turned his back and began constructing another magic circle that I assumed was for summoning Paimon.  I looked over at Jack and watched as the dagger backed away, floating lazily toward the warlock.  Brian’s dismissive behavior was puzzling.  Did he think I was just going to sit and wait for him to kill us?  While I watched him, I tested the bonds behind my back by twisting my wrists from side to side.

Immediately, the ropes tightened exponentially and the resulting pain was mind numbing.

Frantically, I used my power to pull the rope apart.  The pain was unbearable, but my efforts only seemed to succeed in making them even tighter.  With horror, I pictured the rope pulling so tightly that my hands were severed at the wrists.  I thrashed around desperately, unintentionally causing the bonds of my legs to contract as well.  Dear God!  The pain!  I had to get free.  I fell to my side and writhed in agony.  Nothing I did worked to ease the rope’s tension.  The resulting compression ground the skin and bones of my ankles and wrists brutally.  The excruciating pain engulfed my mind and came out of my mouth in the form of shrill, aggrieved screams.  I could hardly think of anything constructive, other than the stark desire to loosen the bonds.

When I thought my bones were seconds from breaking, Red was suddenly at my side and held my face firmly between his paws to get my attention.  “Lire, the ropes are spelled!  They will tighten at any hint of escape.  You must calm your mind.  You must not resist.  Relax and stop fighting.”

Red continued to soothe me as I focused on keeping my body still.  Although I was far from relaxed and the bonds remained viciously tight, the magic ropes stopped their constriction.  Relieved, I turned my mind to expunging any thoughts of breaking free.  This task proved to be quite a bit more difficult, but I reminded myself that running away wasn’t an option.  My hands and feet were mainly tools for escape, which wasn’t the main task at hand.  I was here to defeat Brian, not run away.  Yes, use of my hands and feet would be nice, but they weren’t absolutely necessary.  My powers were not dependent on my appendages.  There were other ways to deal with the challenges ahead.  Dwelling on escape was not one of them.

After several minutes of deliberate focus and meditation with Red whispering his encouragements in my ear, I felt the ropes slowly loosen to near their original tightness.  They were still painfully taut, but had relaxed enough that I could pay attention to what was going on around me.  A lot had happened while I was fighting the bonds.

I tentatively pushed myself up to a sitting position.  Because I was no longer focused on escaping, the spelled ropes did not react to my movement.

“Ahhh.  I see you have figured out my escape-resistant ropes.  Pity.  Your ridiculous display was quite amusing.”  Brian's voice grated my already frayed nerves.

“I’m glad you were entertained.”

I steadied my expression and fought to remain poised as I came face to face with the creature standing next to Brian.  Red squeezed my arm and I avoided looking down.  I didn't want to draw any more attention to him than was absolutely necessary.

Although the demon was over ten feet away and confined to a smaller magic circle, my stomach churned with fear and it was a fierce struggle to keep my thoughts from spiraling out of control.

The creature was cloaked in a human form, and, uh…oh, wowzers!  He, I meai>it, was a showstopper, not to mention stark naked and unbelievably gorgeous.  I had to remind myself to breathe.  It exhibited easily six feet of smooth, defined muscles.  Dark blonde hair, chiseled features, glorious arched brow—if there was a list of Lire’s top ten eye catching traits, the demon exhibited every one.  And then some.  If it weren’t for the foul magic emanating from its direction, I probably would have appreciated the show much more readily.  Still, its drool-worthy appearance gave me pause.

The demon was, of course, all about temptation.  It strutted around as far as its circle allowed and demonstrated, both physically and verbally, how much potential pleasure was involved with an oath of allegiance.  With a silver tongue, it spouted virtuously about how all my dreams were about to come true.  Apparently, my chance at eternal bliss was well within my reach.  No skin suits to worry about.  No errant thoughts to overwhelm my senses.  It offered absolute dedication to my every whim, my deepest desires.  It reminded me of the pathetic state of my love life, my trials and tribulations, my near suicide, men spurning me because of my gift.  It regarded me as a truly special individual.  My gift was something to hold in awe, not deride or fear.

I’ll be honest, it was very persuasive.  Its chosen form was sexy as hell.  It was intelligent and witty.  It was captivating and entertaining.  The display of concern and attention it paid me was flattering.  It made me wonder whether the human conception of Hell was really true.  Perhaps it was just an old wives’ tale, like the demon described—stories that had been passed down over the millennia to scare children into behaving like well-mannered adults.  After all, the djinn also came from an alien otherworld.  They too could present themselves in human form.  I wondered whether—ouch!

My train of thought was derailed by a sudden, sharp jab of icy pain between my eyebrows.  Momentarily dazed, I shook myself to help clear my head.  What was I just thinking?  I gasped.  Oh my God!  My bowels tightened sickeningly from the shocking and terrifying realization that the demon nearly succeeded in hooking me.  It had taken advantage of my weakness.  If it weren’t for the pain sent by Maya and Tanu…  I shuddered and tried to focus on them.  I was barely able to sense their thoughts through the psychic conduit.  It was a fleeting connection and the demon was relentlessly distracting.

The demon whispered, “Lire.”  Its voice was husky and appealing.  “I will dedicate myself to you.  I desire only to make your every dream come true.  I ask you, truly, will you join me?”

I struggled not to make eye contact.  Bolts of fear sparked through the pit of my stomach as I flailed mentally for the means to fight off the demon’s powerful influence.  Red looked up at me and grasped my arm with his paws.  My insides melted at the sight of him, cute certainly, but the cuddly body also contained the personality of a being I truly adored.  The love I felt for him warmed my spirit and restored my composure.  It strengthened my resolve.  Even so, I knew that love alone wasn't enough to fight such an unassailable creature directly.  More powerful tools were necessary to pit oneself against a Prince of Hell.  At the very least, I could only hope that my meager efforts were enough to foil Brian's plans.

“Lire.  You have not given me an answer, I think because part of you knows the truth I speak.  Come to me, Lire.  You are a goddess among puny beings who will never appreciate you.  I will make you my equal, my partner, my queen.  Again, I ask you, truly.  Will you join me?”

Finally, I had the strength to look the demon calmly in the eye.  It regarded me with a serene, understanding expressionut I was not fooled.  “No.  I will not.”

The demon closed its eyes and looked down sadly before regarding me seriously.  “I am sorry for you, Lire.  You have chosen a difficult path and one that puts you at odds with my plans.  Can we not discuss this, first?  I do not wish to see you suffer.”  The demon spoke to me, as though I was someone it truly cared for.  It was the voice of a loving boyfriend or husband, but I knew it was a lie.

Sexy voice aside, I ignored the demon's appeal and answered truthfully.  “I will do whatever it takes to see that Brian is brought to justice and my friends and family are left alone to live their lives freely.  If I can do that without suffering, you can bet I'll try.”

The demon folded its nicely muscled arms across its flat abdomen and I fought a losing battle to resist admiring its well-toned physique.  It was obscenely difficult to imagine that this gorgeous creature was something completely opposite under the facade of its human disguise.  But, I had Jason and Trinity's memories.  I knew the truth.

Brian bristled at my statement about foiling his plans.  “Too late.  You've failed on that score.  Now I will take the remaining powers you somehow gained from Jason and Patty, and then you will die.  The prophecy will come to pass.  Only one of us will survive.  We both know who that's going to be.”  Brian glanced at the demon with smugly narrowed eyes.

I rolled my eyes and forced myself to remain calm.  “Uh-huh.  Well, that being the case and all, don't you think it's time to remove that ridiculous mask?  I have Daniel's memories you know.  I've seen what you look like, so there's no real reason to keep up the disguise.”

Considering that there were zero options at my disposal, I figured stalling for time might open up an opportunity to fight Brian directly on more even footing.  Red's comforting presence at my side helped to keep up my continued hope.

Brian glared and then shrugged.  “Why not?  I don't suppose anyone else will be stupid enough to try and read your bones.  Besides, I might just take them with me…as a memento.”  He laughed and removed the mask with a flourish, revealing the face familiar from Daniel's memory—brown hair, brown eyes, and a face that was more cute than handsome.

I tilted my head slightly.  “So, are you planning on putting me under with the chloroform so your spell continues to be a mystery?  You know, I think I've figured out why you didn't want any of your victims to witness that spell.  You don't want everyone to know that Paimon is actually the one casting it.  In fact, I'm guessing that Paimon is the mastermind behind all of your actions, not the other way around as you've wanted everyone believe.”

Brian snorted and shook his head pityingly.  “Paimon takes orders from me, as you will soon see.”

The demon shifted in its circular prison and struck another enticing pose, casually running a hand through its thick, wavy hair.  “Lire, join me and I will free you from your miseries and guarantee Jack's complete recovery.  I will even spare Red.  Nothing is served by your death.  If you continue on this path, Brian will gain from you the remaining power of his earlier victims, Jack will die, and Red will be cast into oblivion.  I can change things, however, if you agree to join me.”

I laughed.  “Nice try.  You don't have that power.  Brian is calling the shots, the last I checked.  Somehow, I don't think he will allow for such a bargain.”

Brian regarded me with a righteous smile and narrowed eyes.  With his chin tilted contemptuously, he glanced at the demon.  “Enough!  She will not agree, no matter what puasions you spout.  Chloroforming her isn't necessary.  Let her feel the full wrath of your spell, demon.  It is time to end her meddling and get on with my plan.  Soon I will have the full power of Invisius at my disposal and will be unstoppable.”

Paimon's mouth turned up at the corners to form a wicked smile.  “I think not, warlock.  Lire is entirely too important to waste on your petty ambitions.”

Brian huffed and pulled himself up taller.  “Your opinion is irrelevant.  Demon, I command you to strip the powers from her and give them to me.  You will cast your spell now!”

The demon ignored Brian and gave me a cheerfully conspiratorial smile.  After a moment, it slid its eyes to the side without moving its head and regarded Brian.  I got the distinct impression that the demon wanted to see Brian's reaction and was playing things up for my benefit.

Red tugged my arm urgently.  When I glanced down and saw him, my stomach clenched with foreboding.  His furry face managed to look frantic.  I wasn't sure, but I guessed that Red's anxiety was due to Paimon's marked lack of obedience.

I quickly shifted my attention back toward the demon just in time to see it casually step out of its summoning circle and face Brian.

Looking suitably shocked, Brian backed up several paces.  His eyes were wide with surprise and confusion as he sputtered a nearly unpronounceable, multi-syllable name.  “You are mine to command!  Stop!  Now!”

The demon laughed and the sexy human sound quickly morphed into a deep, horrific guffaw.  Something fleeting and extremely unsettling shifted under its beautifully tanned skin.  When I turned my attention past the demon's muscular body, I saw that Brian's confused expression had been replaced by one of abject terror.

“I think not, stupid human.  You did well, bringing Lire to me unharmed, but your time of usefulness has come to an end.  Now it is you who will serve me, in your next plane of existence.”

Brian turned and launched himself away from the demon and, for a moment, I wasn't absolutely sure whether Paimon was going to bother chasing him.  With the demon's gloriously naked backside toward me, I had a perfect view of every toned muscle, and not a single one tensed up for pursuit.

Brian's frantic run had carried him to the edge of the circle before I noticed something dark and disturbing forming in front of the demon.  With its body blocking my view, I was unable to see the source of the undefined shadow, but it quickly coalesced and then darted toward Brian.  It was preternaturally quick and lashed out in an organic, spreading fashion, as ink might when squirted into a tub of clear water.  The black appendage easily wrapped around Brian's waist, lifted him clear off the ground, and whisked him back to face the demon—all in the space of about five seconds.  Brian's body dangled helplessly at the waist and he twisted frantically in a futile effort to escape.

Never have I experienced such extreme fear.  Every nerve ending in my body was screaming at me to get as far away from this thing that was now loose in the world.  If it weren't for the magic bindings around my ankles and wrists, I would have been hard pressed to make myself stay and help Jack.

The warlock screamed piteously, and although I wanted to see Brian pay for his crimes, his slow, brutal death at the hands of Paimon was too much for me to watch.

I will not describe the details of his suffering and eventual death.  Suffice it to say, when I saw the black shadow rip a strip of skin from Brian’s midsection, I firmly clamped shut my eyes.  I wanted more than anything to stuff my fingers into my ears in order to block out Brian’s horrendous screams and the disgusting wet sounds of the demon’s methods.  Several times, I felt the splatter of blood hit my face and heard it hit the dirt around me.  Almost immediately, I leaned to the side to vomit and wretched more times than I can count.  As I teetered on the brink of madness, Red climbed to my shoulder, firmly placed a paw on each side of my face, and sternly told me to listen to his instructions.

When I didn't immediately respond, he squeezed my face painfully.  “Lire!  Listen to me!  Focus!”

Numbly, I nodded my head and Red released me from his grip.  He jumped down from my shoulder to the ground and ordered me turn away from the horror that continued only a few yards distant.  A furtive glance in that direction revealed that the demon continued to grasp Brian, and I averted my eyes before I could process the exact details of his condition.  Blood was everywhere, but Brian's loud, chilling screams and the demon's frequent promises of more pain told me that his ordeal was far from over.

As I focused my attention on Red, the ghastly scene ensnared another of my senses.  All at once, my nose was awash with the horrible smell of excrement mixed with the coppery odor of blood.  I wretched again, before reflexively breathing through my mouth.  My body began to tremble violently, but with tenuous control I bent down to better hear what Red had to say.

Red placed a paw on my leg.  “Lire, I will not lie to you.  You may die here, but my knowledge may help you preserve your soul if not your life.  I will be by your side.  We will face this together.  Please, whatever happens, do not despair.  God will not abandon you if you have faith.”

I closed my eyes tightly before acknowledging Red with a stiff nod.  We both knew that I was ill equipped to fight a Prince of Hell.

“Lire, even full fledged Warriors of the Holy Cross are hard pressed to do anything other than guard the perimeter of a higher demon's range.”  Red rubbed my knee.  “That said, I still believe that there is hope.  Clearly, Paimon wants you spared; otherwise, it would have allowed Brian to have his way with you.  It must have a reason.  Perhaps you can use this to your advantage.”

I shuddered at the prospect of being bent to the demon's will.  Whatever it had in mind, it surely wasn't good.  It took supreme effort, but I pushed my thoughts away from the frightful speculation and tried to think instead about how to survive.  I thought about the demon's circle and hoped Red had been able to pay some attention to how Brian summoned Paimon.

“How did Brian lose control?  Did I miss something while I was occupied with the bonds?” I asked.

“Because the demon so thoroughly disobeyed Brian without any force of will, I believe Brian had only part of Paimon's true name.”  Red scoffed, “Clearly, Brian has little understanding or training in necromancy.  Otherwise, he would have known this is a common demonic ploy.  Demons are masters of subterfuge.  They tantalize summoners with partially true names using subtle, but extremely clever tactics.  It would seem Paimon found a way to lead Brian down that path.”

“So, if you call a demon with one of these partially true names, then they're not bound to the circle at all?  They can wander the world freely?”

Red shook his head.  “No.  The circle is elemental.  It is their source of power and portal to our world.  Paimon is irrefutably bound to it, although, without a true covenant, the demon has retained all of its power and freewill.  Even so, Paimon cannot wander far from the circle without sacrificing power.  If it wanders too far, the demon will cease to exist in this world.”

“That's a little like the djinn.  Isn't it?  I was told that the building's foundation is their portal.  But they can't wander outside the periphery of the building.”

“Yes.  Your building's djinn were summoned in much the same way, but they are bound with a true covenant and they are neither demons nor angels.  They are neutral.”

I wondered what that meant and briefly thought of my experience in the djinn's world, but this clearly wasn't the time to contemplate this newest bit of knowledge.

“How far can Paimon wander from the portal before reaching the limit of its tether?”

I risked a glance over my shoulder.  Brian was still alive, but his head lolled sickeningly to the side, and his screams of pain were infrequent and pitifully weak.  I closed my eyes tightly before my brain had time to ponder all the red globs and glistening bits of gore that surrounded the demon.

Red answered, “Paimon is extremely powerful.  I have heard that the most powerful demons can wander several furlongs, perhaps half a mile.”

“Is it possible for me to close the portal?”  A ragged scream almost made me glance away again, but I kept my focus on Red.

Red paused significantly.  “I don't know.”

I once saw a documentary about the famous oil well firefighter Red Adair.  The name stuck in my head for obvious reasons, but his story came to mind because the portal made me think of an oil well.  It seemed to me that the dangers associated with putting out a hazardous, high pressure column of fire while it consumed an unlimited fuel supply wasn't all that different from attempting to close off a high demon's power source.  I wondered whether physically damaging the summoning circle might cut off the power long enough to cause the portal to disintegrate.

I asked, “Can the circle be blown up?  You know, like fire fighters sometimes do to cut off the supply of oxygen to a fire?”

“The portal isn't subject to physical assault—it's not entirely of our world.  Only magic can affect the demon and its power source.  And not just any magic.  Only magic wielded selflessly by a soldier of God will have any hope for success.”

I regarded Red sadly.  “Well, I suppose it doesn't matter.  I'm fresh out of dynamite anyway.”

Red clutched my arm with both paws.  “I love you, Lire.  I know it isn't much consolation, but your presence here saw to the end of Brian's evil.  Even if we both meet our end here, you've succeeded in saving countless lives and brought peace to Nick, Jason and Trinity's souls.  For that you should be very proud.  I am honored to be at your side.”

My voice was choked with emotion and I sobbed before managing to respond clearly.  “I love you too, with all my soul.”

Red looked past me toward the demon and nodded.  “Brian is finally dead.  Keep your faith, Lire.  It will protect you.”

I felt the dreadful approach of the demon.  It stood, resplendently covered in unspeakable, blood-soaked gore and ran its tongue seductively across its lips.  Fresh blood ran down the rippling muscles of its abdomen.  I closed my eyes before I was tempted to follow the trail of blood to lower regions.  Waves of dread combined poorly with my unwanted feelings of attraction to the demon's human form.  I felt light headed and breathed deeply through my mouth to avoid getting sick.

Before the demon was able to speak, gunfire suddenly erupted from outside the circle.  I flinched so suddenly from surprise that I lost my balance and fell over onto my side.  With bullets znging overhead, I decided that it was just as well to be down low.  Absurdly, I wondered when Jack began carrying a gun.

The demon uttered a hideous laugh, as it stood tall against the barrage of bullets that seemed to go on for several minutes.  After countless rounds were fired, the noise finally stopped, and I turned my head to see that the demon remained unaffected.  Its smooth, tanned skin and taut muscles remained perfectly intact, albeit coated haphazardly with Brian's blood.  I was briefly discomfited by the view of my low vantage point before the naked demon turned away to face the gun-wielding assailant.

Red spoke urgently into my ear.  “Lire!  It's Vince!”

My breath caught.  If my hands had been free, I probably would have smacked my forehead in a gesture of complete frustration and disbelief.  “Dammit!  I just can't get a break!”

The demon's response was deep and chilling.  “Very good.  Never have I succeeded so thoroughly.”

Before I was able to fully right myself, the demon moved fluidly toward the source of the gunshots.  I looked over just in time to get a view of Paimon lashing out with its dark tentacle.  It grabbed Vince just as easily as it had snatched up Brian, and the fresh memory of Brian's ordeal was my undoing.  Fueled with a surge of adrenalin, I jumped up and wavered on my still tightly bound feet.  My ankles flared with intense pain.  Without my arms to help me balance, I came a hair's breadth away from falling on my face.

Frantically, I yelled, “No!  Demon, stop!  Hear me!  If you harm him, I will pit myself against you and never agree to your terms.  I will fight you to the bitter end and never give you what you desire.  But if you do not harm him or any of the others and leave this place now…I will go with you.  I will pledge myself to you…before God, I swear.”

Red was appalled.  “Lire!  No!  You must not forsake your soul.  Not for anything!”

I looked down at him with a tender, unwavering expression.  “Not even for love?”  I shook my head in astonishment.  “Red, what else can I do?  I love you.  I love the both of you.”

The demon tilted its head back and laughed victoriously.  It callously pitched Vince's limp body to the side where he fell into a heap not far away.  Vince moaned and rolled over as he tried to orient himself.  He was shaken, but not badly hurt.

The demon strode toward me triumphantly and halted only inches away from my body.  I stared defiantly up into its cold blue eyes and demanded its response.  “Are we agreed?”

The demon chortled and its gaze lingered on my face.  Its voice pitched low and resonated with desire.  “Yes.  One soul such as yours is worth dozens of lesser mortals.  I agree.”

I shivered involuntarily and closed my eyes.  “We will swear it with blood.  I will accept nothing less.”

“Done.”  The demon's voice vibrated down the length of my body, but I was past fear.  My chosen course felt right and that knowledge calmed me.

“Lire, what are you doing?”  Vince had wobbled to a standing position and stumbled toward us.

With my arms and legs still tied, I wasn't able to interpose myself between him and the demon, so I tried to warn him with the tone of my voice.  “Vince.  Stay out of this!  There is too much you don't understand.”

Before I could say anything more, however, the demon's arm shot out with blinding speed and knocked Vince clear across the circle.  I cringed at the sound of impact.

“Dammit!  That wasn't necessary!”lared at the demon before recovering my composure and setting my sights on our agreement.  “Release my hands for the oath.”

A sense of urgency supplanted all other concerns.  I had to press forward before Vince interfered any further.  Verbal agreement or no, I wasn't absolutely sure the demon could resist hurting Vince, especially if he interposed himself again.

Without any physical effort, the rope around my wrists fell to the ground, along with the one at my ankles.  The demon knew full well that I was not going to run.

I gasped with pain as my arms flopped down to my sides, setting my shoulders ablaze by the sudden movement.  My arms were numb and unwieldy.  It was a monumental struggle just to clasp my hands together in front of me.  Frustratingly slow, I managed to remove my gloves, mostly with my teeth.

I held out the palm of my right hand.  My body tensed with anticipation, but I attempted to be brave.  “Cut me.”

The demon's previously human eyes turned black and alien, and its mouth opened wide to reveal an inhuman tongue.  Much to my dismay, I discovered that this was the source of the disturbing, darkly fluid tentacle that had grabbed both Brian and Vince.  My throat choked with fear and I fought to suppress a scream as the unnatural appendage disgorged from the demon's mouth and moved with the same bizarre, organic-like fluidity I had witnessed earlier.  Instead of cutting my palm, however, the extremity boiled down to the ground and undulated quickly across the circle.  After only a moment, it contracted backwards, returning with Brian's blade and a gold chalice, which the tentacle placed into the demon's human hands.  The tentacle disappeared back into Paimon's mouth and its eyes returned to normal.

Before I had time to cringe, the demon slashed my palm with the knife.

I gasped.  The pain of the cut was immediate, and blood welled up along the length of the two-inch incision.  I held my dripping wound over the proffered chalice where my blood slowly collected into a small puddle at the bottom of the gleaming vessel.

I felt the djinn's mark briefly sting with cold, as a stream of careful words trickled into my mind through the weakened conduit.  Without hesitating, I repeated them.  “To this demon the human Lire commits her eternal soul, provided said demon leaves alive and unhurt all mortals within its current purview, immediately escorts the human Lire directly to its exclusive domain through the portal whence it came, and thereby closes such portal forever.”

Paimon regarded me steadily.  After only a moment, it slowly drew the knife in a line just below the nipple of its human body.  Dark, viscous blood oozed slowly from the egregious wound.  Paimon moved the bloodied chalice to catch the inhuman fluid.  “I accept Lire's terms and take her proffered soul as payment in full.”

The demon's quick acceptance worried me.  I had expected some negotiation at the very least.  In a slow, dramatic gulp, the demon consumed the contents of the chalice.  As he drank, a disquieting tremor of magic pressed against me.

It licked it's lips slowly with a pink, human-looking tongue and then grinned victoriously.  “It is done.  You are mine.  Move!”  It shoved me hard, with the now empty chalice, toward the summoning circle.

Pain and dread dogged my every step, but I somehow forced my legs to move toward the summoning circle.  A few paces behind, the demon chortled in triumph, every so often giving my back the occasional savage push.  When I reached the edge of the summoning circle, I had a brief moment to turn back and observe what I was leaving behind.  Vince, who was cradling an injured arm and bleedingm a cut on his cheek, shouted my name and struggled to his feet.

Unwanted tears toppled down my cheeks.  Fear had returned, but I held my head high.  “Vince…take care of Red.  I…”

The demon shoved me through the portal before I could finish.  I felt the hard edge of the chalice severely into my back, and then the scenery shifted with a sickening lurch.  My stomach clenched with nausea, but I hardly noticed, anger overriding judgment.

I lashed out at the demon as bitter tears blurred my vision.  “Damn you!  I wanted to say goodbye!”

The demon avoided my attack with ease and wielded the sharp knife in response.  It viciously slashed down my forearm, and the resulting pain was twofold.  Not only was the jagged wound agonizing, but it was accompanied by all the horror filled memories associated with the dagger's use.

Disoriented by the sudden return of my clairvoyance and the excruciating pain of my injury, I was slow to cast out the terrible memories.  On top of it, the pain of the inflicted wound was not purely physical.  It went deeper.  The pain radiated directly into the core of my being and tortured my spirit, even as it left despair in its wake.

I screamed raggedly, and the demon growled with displeasure.  “You will soon learn that your desires are immaterial.  I am your master and the rules are simple.  You will serve me or there will be pain.  Pain like you have never before experienced.  This is but a small taste.”

My legs bucked beneath me and I fell to the ground.  The demon loomed over and threatened me with the knife.

“Get up or your education begins now.”

I hastily wiped the tears from my eyes and drew my legs under me.  Only then did it dawn on me that we weren't in the fiery pit that I had imagined.

“This is Hell?”

I did not move quickly enough for the demon's taste.  It struck me across the face with the empty chalice.  “Do not ask questions, you pathetic miscreant, or I will whittle down this sack of flesh until only your soul remains.”

I grunted and fell over, overcome with the dark, hideous memories of the chalice and crippling pain of the grievous strike.  I felt blood drip down the side of my face from the injury.  Although I barely had room for conscious thought, my unanswered question stuck firmly in my mind.  This was Hell?  Really?  Wasn't Hell supposed to be dominated by fire and brimstone, or was that just legend?  And why was the demon still in its human guise?

Through the haze of pain, I looked around and finally saw that my surroundings were empty and, even more surprising, familiar.  We were definitely not in Hell, at least, not yet.  This was the Between—the place I briefly visited with Maya and Tanu on the way to their world.  With a sudden rush of understanding, I realized there might still be hope for me, but the boundary to Paimon's domain was likely very close.  Even now, I felt a tugging sensation as the demon pulled me closer to its world.

Dear God, don't let it be too late!

Now that I was outside the warlock's circle, it was clear that my powers were no longer suppressed.  Ironically, if it hadn't been for the physical contact with the knife and the chalice, I might not have figured that out.  With barely a thought, I levitated myself upright, just outside the demon's immediate grasp.  When I moved, the bizarre nothingness of the environment shimmered slightly, as though I viewed the demon through the waves of a desert mirage.

Even Paimon's booming voice sounded strange.  “You must enjoy pain to disobey so willingly.  But you wil soon learn.  I will enjoy breaking you.”

While I still had the time, I fully opened my bloodied right hand and leveled it at the demon.  “Demon, you have broken the terms of our covenant!  You were blood-bound to escort me through the portal directly to your exclusive domain.  Limbo is not your exclusive domain.  By the blood of our covenant, the bargain is null and void.”

Paimon roared and attempted to gut me with the knife, but I was ready.  I easily levitated myself to the side.  The djinn's words about getting lost in this place were on my mind, so I was extremely careful to move just enough to avoid the strike.  Even so, the effect was drastic.  Suddenly, Paimon was at least fifteen feet away and the shimmering aspect of the atmosphere was more pronounced.

The demon's voice came to me distantly.  “Lire, do you think me so stupid?  Did you honestly think I was fooled by your flawed oath?”  The demon laughed.  “No.  I was fully prepared for such trickery—if you can even call such an obvious ploy a trick.  For just this occasion, I made sure that someone special came along for the ride.”

In the distance, I saw the tiny form of Red appear from behind the demon.

I choked back a sob.  “No!”

When Red spoke, he sounded tiny and fragile.  “Lire!  I'm sorry.”

“If you do not wish to see the love of your life ripped to shreds and his soul cast into oblivion, I suggest you return to my side immediately.”

No!  My emotions ran the gamut between complete helplessness and overwhelming rage.  Inwardly, I screamed in frustration.  It just wasn't fair!  I had won free, dammit!  But it seemed that I had actually gone two steps backward.  How was this possible?  Was there a way out?  Could I rescue Red without going to Hell with the demon?

I dithered too long.  The demon grabbed Red with its slithering appendage and used it to rip off one of his fuzzy legs.  As the black tentacle coiled around it, the part simply disintegrated.

“Red!”  I sobbed and screamed at the same time.

The demon laughed.  “I wonder how far I can pare down this vessel before it can no longer hold his soul.”

Red's voice sounded pitiful—so small and weak.  “Lire!  Help me!”

The demon didn't hesitate or make further demands.  It merely plucked at Red's other leg and it parted from his cuddly body, as if made from clay.  Tormented by the sight, I watched in agony as the severed leg gradually disappeared like the last.  The anguish from seeing his mangled body was unmatched by anything I had ever before experienced.  No other pain, either physical or emotional, came close.  I was in a frenzy to make it stop.

“Stop!  Please!  I'll go with you!  Just release him!”

The demon regarded me with narrowed eyes.  “Come to me.”

God forgive me, but I was reluctant.  It seemed so much easier back on Earth when I committed myself to save Jack, Vince and Red.  Now, however, I found it incredibly difficult to comply.

Red made a moaning sound and it broke my heart.  I straightened my back and set about to using my levitation.  This was a strange place.  Any movement seemed to be magnified in the Between, so I needed to be careful with the application of my power.  As I set about to use my magic, it got me thinking.  How was it that I had my powers, but Red didn't seem to have his?  Was the demon immune to Red's magic?

Red cried out, “Lire!  Please!  We'll go with the demon together, just don't let my soul go into Limbo!”

The demon's vile extremity had coiled threateningly around Red's neck, but I hesitated.  Something didn't feel right.  Not only did Red not seem to have his powers, but he wasn't acting in a way that I would have expected given the nature of the situation.  There was no way that Red would ever ask me to forsake my soul, not for anything.  And, especially, not for him.

I sat back on my heels and clenched my fists.  “No, demon.  I see through your lie.  That is not Red.  And I will not go with you.  Not now, not ever.”

Paimon sighed and the body of Red disappeared.  “Very well.  Then let me be the first to welcome you to oblivion!”

At astonishing speed, Paimon's tentacle lashed out toward me.  I had a split second to register the glint of the knife.  Instead of attempting to grab me, like it had to both Brian and Vince, the demon resorted to striking with the dagger.

In that fleeting moment, while I readied my power to escape, I came to an improbable realization…

Paimon was avoiding my touch.

There was only an instant to think it through.  Was Paimon truly avoiding physical contact?  Niggling thoughts that I had simply ignored now came to mind and seemed to confirm it.  At the time of our blood oath, I had offered Paimon my palm, but it did not strike the skin with its powerful tentacle as I had expected.  Instead, it had used the dagger and chalice.  When Paimon shoved me through the portal, it used the chalice.  And here, in the Between, when I had expected to see Paimon's true form and its most horrible tools of pain, it elected instead to use Brian's knife and chalice as weapons.  Amazing as it seemed, at every opportunity that came to mind, I realized that Paimon had gone out of its way to use one of Brian's tools.  Why, if not to avoid contact?

In a flash, I changed my plan.  Rather than levitating myself away from the demon's strike, I used my power to turn aside the blade and forced myself to touch the dark, slithering appendage.  Immediately, my mind was flooded with the most intimate thoughts and desires of a being so alien and malevolent that I very nearly lost all sense of myself.  Disassociating my essence from the demon's consciousness and remaining in contact with the nasty appendage took nearly every ounce of my power.

The demon reacted with nearly equal aversion to my touch.  It bellowed indignantly and quickly snatched back its tentacle.  Grabbing the insubstantial appendage was impossible, so I abruptly launched myself toward the demon.  It was completely foolhardy, but somehow I knew it was imperative to stay in contact with the demon, in spite of the danger and the utterly loathsome contact.

Although it was not my intention, I hit the demon in what amounted to a telekinetic flying tackle.  It wasn't exactly what I had in mind—crashing into a Prince of Hell and inviting injury—but I latched on to its body in sheer desperation.  With the fast approaching dagger nearly forgotten, I completely submerged myself into the black abyss of Paimon's mind, even as the demon fought to push me off.

Immediately, I knew that my life was in mortal danger.  Paimon was absolutely, undeniably intent on killing me before I discovered the truth.  And because I was inside Paimon's mind, I knew precisely what it intended to do.  Through its eyes, I saw the moment the tentacle returned with the knife and its violent strike.  The demon easily drove the sharp dagger into my throat, all the way to the hilt, before quickly tearing it downward.

But the demon's attack was too late.  I discovered what it did not want me to know.

The essential nature of my power is to seek and reveal truths.  Once I come into contact with an item or a person, its essence enters my mind.  The essence does not lie.  It cannot be deceitful.  The essence is the truth of the object or person, for better or worse.  Paimon's power, on the other hand, is nothing but lies.  It only affects those who believe in them.

Paimon had power over me simply because I believed it did.

I opened my eyes to see the demon triumph in the killing blow, but the jubilant expression faded quickly as it watched the dagger disintegrate and my skin emerge unblemished.  The knife didn't inflict injury because I knew the truth.  Only a creature's essence existed in the Between; anything else was a projection, including flesh and pain and death.  The demon was only able to hurt me if I believed it was possible.

There was something else that I discovered—something I did not want to accept, in spite of the truth.  Although Paimon was an evil, debauched creature, it was not completely irredeemable.  Deep down, Paimon harbored an even more desperate secret.  The secret was denied and hidden so completely that it was very nearly forgotten, but I unearthed it.  My magic laid it bare, and it gave me pause.  Paimon's most urgent longing was to be human.  It wanted to breathe the fresh, pine-scented air of the mountains, feel the rush of the ocean over its toes, know the embrace of a loved one, and touch freshly fallen snow, but most of all, it wanted freedom.  It was this unfulfilled need, corrupted by ages of jealousy and hatred, which drove Paimon to its ends.

As I released my urgent grip and rolled off the demon's body, I realized one final thing.  I knew Paimon's true name.  It was intrinsically bound to the demon's essence.  Now that I knew Paimon's truth, its name was obvious.  It was not possible to learn one without knowing the other.

I sat up and called its name.  In the Between it was not possible to make demands, but I had no desire to command anything except the demon's attention.

I calmly met Paimon's vengeful eyes before pointing out the obvious.  “You no longer have power over me.  I know your truth.”

The demon snarled as it raised itself into a crouched position.  “That may be, but you will end up like all the rest who learned my name.  It is but a small matter.”

“Oh?  And how did they all end up?”

It leaned toward me and leered.  “Under my dominion where they spend eternity in pain and torment.”

I shrugged.  “Doubtful, but believe what you will.  I have no intention of repeating your name.  Ever.”

The demon stood up and laughed with its deep, appealing human voice.  “That is exactly what they all say.  But at some point, you will be desperate for help.  My name will jump to your lips and you will call me.  It is inevitable.  It is foretold.”

“You know, I've really had enough of the prophecy crap.”

Paimon offered me its hand to help me up, and I did not shy away.  I already knew the demon's essence and it was no longer capable of hurting me.  The demon pulled me up, but did not relinquish my hand.  Instead, it pulled me closer, so that I stood inches away and was forced to stare into its light blue eyes.  Interestingly, the demon no longer seemed to radiate evil, but I assumed it was because we were in the Between.

The demon's intimately husky voice sent shivers down my spine.  “You may know my truth, but I also know yours.  It is a connection that you cannot deny.”  It placed my hand on its naked chest and held it captive.  “We will meet again.”

With that parting remark, Paimon released my hand and shimmered out of sight.  Is left alone in the desolate emptiness of the Between, puzzled by the demon's final words and clueless about how to get back to Earth.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Now that the demon was gone, I had time to consider my predicament.  The djinn had mentioned something about getting lost in the Between without the proper training, so I didn't dare move for fear of going astray.  I imagined that my situation was similar to getting lost in the wild.  Rescuers always started looking for errant hikers at their last known location.  So it was smart to just sit down and wait until help eventually arrived.  It was a great concept for the wilderness, but somehow I didn't think Vince was going to be able to call in a search and rescue team for me in the Between.  In fact, Maya and Tanu might be the only ones capable of finding me.

I intently focused on the djinn's mark of binding in the hope that Maya or Tanu might hear me, but I quickly realized that the conduit was either broken or didn't exist in the Between.  I was nearly certain that my human body was lying inert, back in the summoning circle, but how long could I be away without negative consequences?  For that matter, how long had I been in the Between with the demon?  Minutes?  Hours?  Certainly not days!  In a place that did not offer any hint of change, there was no way to determine exactly how much time had passed.

Although my body was left behind, along with the djinn's mark, it was my essence that was bound to the djinn.  Surely that meant the djinn could find me if they knew where to look, didn't it?  Since the djinn had played a part in my escape, it seemed reasonable that they hoped I might figure out its loophole.  They probably realized I was here.  Maybe.

Not sure what else to do, I surveyed my surroundings.  The environment was just as barren, just as empty as it was five minutes ago.  As I slowly spun on my heel, I considered the nebulous aspect of the Between.  If not for the missing balustrade, this place was identical to the dream I had when I first met Jason.  Was that just a coincidence?  A tiny flicker of excitement ignited in the pit of my stomach.  Jason and Trinity were more than just a dream.  I felt sure it was possible to see them in this place.  With Jason's image in my mind, I focused intently on drawing him out.

Suddenly, Jason was standing next to me with a surprised expression and a wide smile.  He looked around.  “Well, it's not exactly a hot spot, but I won't complain.”

I laughed and hugged him before turning my attention to Trinity.  A moment later, the three of us stood in a tight group and discussed the quandary at hand.

“My instincts tell me I should wait here for the djinn, but I'm not entirely sure they know I'm here.”  I sighed and considered the infinite nothingness that surrounded us.  “And even if they suspect it, I don't know if it will be easy for them to find me.”

Jason tilted his head.  “Why?  They escorted you here, so they obviously know the way.”

“Yeah, but they were really adamant about not stopping, even though I wasn't feeling well.  Remember?  They said something about it being too easy for me to get lost.”

“Right.”  Jason's brows knit together in thought.

Trinity tilted her head thoughtfully, but remained silent.

I fought the urge to pace around nervously.  “I assume that my body back at the summoning circle is comatose—waiting for me to return.  You don't think my body is dying without my essence…do you?”

“I don't know.”  Trinity's expression was pinched with uncertainty, but her eyes remained lively.  “I don't think so.  After all, you went to the djinn's world and didn't die.”

Jason agreed.  “Yeah, Vince would have mentioned it if something had gone wrong while you were gone.”

“Yeah, I suppose so.”  I threw up my hands and growled with frustration.  “Ugh!  There is so much I don't know about all this!”

Jason and Trinity glanced at each other and then looked back at me with uncertain expressions.

“What?”  I cast my questioning gaze back and forth between them until Jason spoke up.

“The demon knows about this place.”

My eyebrows shot up with alarm.  “I am not calling on that…thing.  Not ever.”

Jason waved me off with a palming gesture.  “No.  No.  That's not what I meant.  But you do have some of the demon's memories.  Maybe if you examine them more closely, you'll spot something.”

I sighed and then sat down on the strange surface.  I wrapped my arms around my bent knees and looked up at Jason and Trinity.  “I'm not terribly eager to do that.  Its memories make Patty's look like a day at the beach.”

Jason's expression was sympathetic.  “I know, but you can't keep them locked away indefinitely.  Now's as good a time as any to let them loose.  Don't you think?”

I sighed and nodded before resting my chin on my knees and closing my eyes.  Jason was right.  It wasn't ridiculous to assume that there might be helpful information within the cesspool of Paimon's mind.

With my shield relaxed, the demon's memories immediately vied for my attention.  The influx of such cold, unrelenting feelings of hatred and jealousy made me gasp for air.  I'm sure it wasn't necessary to draw breath in the Between since my body was just a projection, but you know what they say about old habits.

I waded through the flood of corruption, mentally recoiling at each atrocious thought.  After a few moments, I realized that what disturbed me most weren't the detestable acts or even the demon's evil intent.  Not that those weren't completely horrible.  What bothered me above all was that the demon as a whole did not repulse me the way I expected.  Yes, Paimon's methods were completely repellent and loathsome, but there was a part of me that was drawn to the creature.  Alarmingly, I felt sympathy toward it.  How could I possibly feel anything other than complete aversion toward a being that exploited human frailties for its own benefit?  A being that delighted in torture?  Had I been swayed by Paimon's seductions after all?  Or perhaps these feelings of sympathy and fascination were due to a connection with the demon that I did not want to acknowledge.  I certainly didn't feel any such connection, but knowing the demon's true name was a perilous burden.  The demon's parting remark came to mind, and I shuddered with foreboding.

It wasn't easy, but I deliberately set aside my tangled feelings and turned my attention toward sifting through Paimon's memories.  It was a long shot at best since I had only received a small fraction of its thoughts, but I soon discovered the demon's memory of pulling me toward its domain.  I focused tightly on that recollection.

Jason and Trinity were staring down at me anxiously when I opened my eyes and looked up.

I told them, “It's not like I have an instruction manual in my head, but…I think I understand how to move between worlds.”  My expression faltered as I reconsidered.  “Maybe I should rephrase that.  I think I understand how the demon moves between worlds.  Whether it will work for me, I don't know.”

Jason crouched down next to me.  “It's a place to start.  What did you learn?”

“It's hard to describe.”  I felt my eyes cast to the side as I considered the memories.  “Paimon knows its domain intimately.  It knows the way it feels, the way it tastes.  As far as I can tell, in order to go there, Paimon latches on to that feeling and then pulls itself toward the destination."  I shrugged.  "Maybe the same thing will work for me.  If I just concentrate and think about home—how it feels and how it resonates—then maybe I'll be able to notice its pull.  Maybe I can follow that feeling toward my body.”

Trinity's expression was serious.  “Or it could just get you lost.”  She shook herself and then smiled sheepishly.  “Sorry.  Not helping.”

I snorted.  “That's okay.  You're hardly saying something that I'm not already thinking.”

Jason shifted his weight so that one of his knees rested on the ground.  “So…what do you think?  You going to try it?”

My gaze was drawn toward the surroundings.  “Well, I can at least try to feel around a bit.”  I turned my attention back toward Jason and then up at Trinity.  “Uh.  You guys don't want to stay here, do you?  I mean, stay here without me?”

Jason smiled and shook his head.  “Not me.  I'm not sure that we can stay here without you anyway, but thanks for offering.”

I smirked at him.  “Oh yeah, this being the hot spot and all.”

“Nah, it's just off season.  Come spring break, this place will be jumping.”

We laughed, and then I felt Jason and Trinity pull on our connection.  Their projections dissipated from view, but I knew they were still with me.  Jason was right.  Our essences were linked.  It wasn't possible to leave either of them in the Between, whether they wanted to stay or not.  Actually, it was a relief to know that I couldn't lose them somehow.  The demon's performance with the false Red had left me worried that they could be lost to oblivion if I wasn't careful.

With that concern resolved, I mentally cast about for a way back home.  After a moment of quiet contemplation, it gradually became obvious that there were a staggering number of possible pathways, each with its own unique timbre.  The sheer number of choices was absolutely stupefying.  With sudden clarity, I realized that the Between was a nexus.  It was a gateway between an infinite number of universes, each with limitless possibilities.  I despaired.  Finding the way back home suddenly seemed an insurmountable task.

After a moment of complete panic, Trinity and Jason helped reassure me that it was more than possible to get back home.  Both Paimon and the djinn deftly navigated the Between.  It was simply a matter of knowing the correct path.  I thought back on the demon's memories.  Paimon didn't so much pick a path, as the path seemed to pick the demon.  There weren't quantifiable instructions or a map with directions—it was more of a feeling.  It was instinctual.

Once again, I cast out for the correct path, but this time I didn't shy away.  I used my essence to make contact, as if I was playing an otherworldly instrument.  Almost immediately, the timbre of dozens upon dozens of pathway strings became more pronounced.  Okay.  So it wasn't going to be easy, but at least I was no longer faced with an infinite number of possibilities.  With slow deliberation, I combed through each resonating string.  To my relief, from the first moment of contact it was readily apparent whether the path rang true.  I don't know how many pathways I tested.  There were hundreds, maybe even thousands.  Finally, after countless probes, I detected a strinhat resonated with the same vibration as my essence.  I knew immediately that it was the pathway back to my body.

Once I found the string, it was deliriously easy to latch on to it and move along the path through the Between.  I felt the same pulling sensation upon my being that I felt during my previous visit with the djinn when we made our way to and from their world.  Jason and Trinity echoed my feeling of exhilaration and happiness at discovering our way.  The feeling of nausea that plagued me earlier was gone.  Now that I understood the method of movement—now that I knew how to navigate—the pull on my body no longer seemed unusual.  The feeling of home, its timbre and familiar resonance, filled my being with unmitigated joy.

As the edge of the Between drew near, the surroundings grew dark and the nebulous horizon faded to black.  Before I had time to consider how to return to my body, I slid effortlessly back into familiarity.  There was no other possible destination because the pathway was keyed to my body.

In an instant, my senses were bombarded with the light, sound and vibration of Earth—not to mention the unexpectedly restrictive feel of my body.  While I was in the Between, I hadn't paid much attention to the absence of sensory input.  Now that I was back inside my earthly vessel, the sensory overload was shocking.  It took several minutes for me to acclimate to the deafening clamor of stimuli.  Finally, I was able to separate out individual sensations.  I was in a helicopter, on my back, and there was something squeezing my neck.

The dim light of the small cabin stung my eyes and I squinted back the brightness, straining to bring my surroundings into focus.  The sound of the engine and the beat of the rotor blades hammered against my ears and body relentlessly.  My eyelids fluttered open and closed several times before my vision revealed a figure sitting near me.  After a moment of deliberate focus, I was relieved to discover that it was Vince.

He was sitting on a jump seat to my immediate left and gazed distantly at something behind my head, toward what I assumed was the cockpit of the helicopter.  The illumination streaming inside from a forward window bathed his face and body with diffused afternoon sunlight, making his eyes appear golden.  His left arm was inside a blue canvas sling that hung around his neck, dried blood coated parts of his forehead and left cheek, and he wore a large, black headset over his ears.  Most striking, however, was his expression.  In the brief time since knowing him, I had never seen Vince look so grimly despondent.

While I regarded his emotionally ravaged face, Vince's attention wandered from the front window down toward my eyes.  When he met my gaze and realized that I was conscious, the transformation of his features was dizzying.

Because of the loud whine of the turbine, Vince's voice wasn't audible, but his lips were easily readable.  He sat forward in his seat and mouthed, “Oh my God!  Lire!”

After Vince's initial look of disbelief, several other emotions vied for control of his expression—shock, concern, relief and tentative happiness.  At that moment, I had no doubt that he cared for me deeply.  I returned his gaze with an initial, fleeting smile before the emotional impact of my experience overcame my shaky self-control.  Although I was safely back in my body and appeared to be physically unscathed, I just couldn't avoid being undone by all of my pent up emotions and the memories of my horrific experience.  The restraints hampered the movement of my arms and I struggled against the straps in a frustrated attempt to cover my face.  Fat, hot tears coursed down my cheeks and my view of the world blurred into a wet haze.

After a moment, I felt Vince at my se and the touch of his fingers as he smoothed my hair and gently wiped the tears from my face.  My voice was swallowed by the ambient noise, but I repeated his name and tried to turn my head in his direction.

The startled paramedic quickly insinuated himself between us.  From what I gathered, he was alarmed by Vince's careless touching without the benefit of gloves.  There wasn't much I could do, except watch the two men converse through their headsets while I tried to staunch my irrepressible flow of tears.  Again I attempted to free my arms from the tightly cinched straps of the gurney, but the paramedic noticed and placed his gloved hand firmly on my shoulder.

I tried to shake my head to show my displeasure, but the brace around my neck almost completely prevented any lateral movement.  The feelings of intense frustration combined with the agony of my ordeal threatened to unhinge me further.  Vince leaned down and put his lips near my ear.

“Lire!  It's okay!  Don't move!”  I could tell Vince was shouting loudly, but his words were barely audible.

Unfortunately, there wasn't anything I could do except blink my eyes in acknowledgement.  I'm sure my expression was dominated by a look of sad frustration.  I wanted more than anything to wrap my arms around Vince's neck and bury my face against his chest, but I had to settle for the annoying experience of dealing with the medic's examination.  Vince sat back in his seat while the middle-aged, mustached EMT did what he could to check my current condition.  With hand signals, he told me to follow the path of his finger as he moved it around my field of view.  Afterward, he checked my pupils with a small pen-sized flashlight and then shouted some basic questions into my ear.

“Do you have a headache?”

The paramedic put his ear near my mouth and I shouted, “Yes!”

“Is your vision blurred?”

“No!”

“Can he touch you?”  I guessed he was talking about Vince.

“Yes!”

At my last answer, he regarded me doubtfully, but nodded and focused on writing things down on his clipboard.

The landing was softer than I expected and my ears buzzed fuzzily from the reduced noise level.  I was efficiently maneuvered out of the helicopter, pushed into an elevator, wheeled to emergency and then transferred to the slightly less uncomfortable hospital gurney.  Finally, after answering dozens of questions and attempting to sign a couple of forms with my injured hand, the restrictive neck brace was removed and I was left alone to wait.

Throughout the hustle and bustle, I never lost track of Vince, and the staff was nice enough to put us next to each other in the emergency ward.

After a moment of silence, I heard Vince's footsteps and saw his head peek around the privacy curtain that separated our two fabric cubbies.  “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” I replied with a weak smile.  “Open it.  Come sit.”  I weakly patted the end of my bed and, although it was painful, scooted my legs over the side so he had room to sit.

Vince pushed past the curtain and then sat down next to me.  Even though his left arm was secured with a sling, he held it slightly away from his body, like the straps weren't doing an adequate job.  When he shifted his weight to get comfortable, pain was openly evident on his face.

I looked at him with concern.  “How's your arm?”

“Honestly, it hurts like hell, mostly when I move, but I'll be okay.  I think it's just dislocated.”

I looked at him with a sadpression and nodded.  The horrid memories of my encounter plowed their way into my thoughts and pushed aside my almost peaceful state.  Brian's grisly death replayed in my mind.  I remembered my feelings of utter loss and desolation, just before Paimon shoved me through the portal.

Tears welled up into my eyes and I choked out, “I thought I was never going to see you again.”

As I succumbed to another wave of emotion, Vince used his right arm to pull me into his embrace and I clung to him.

The tears were brief, but Vince held me close and spoke into my ear.  “Lire.  I thought so too.  Red told me…he told me you were gone.  He said…”  I heard him take a deep breath, and there was a brief lapse before he continued.  “He could feel that your body was empty.  He told me you were as good as dead, that you were just an empty shell.  God!  I didn't want to believe it, but he seemed so certain.”  He heaved a heavy sigh, and I felt the warmth of his breath on the side of my head.  “I kept him safe.  He's over there, in the duffel bag.”

I nodded mutely and felt the wetness of my tears against his skin, although my major waterworks were over.  I stared at the floor, my cheek against his neck.  “Vince.  I'm sorry.  I did what I thought was right.  I didn't want to see you hurt, not if I could save you.”  My breath hitched several times before I continued.  “Red wasn't wrong.  The demon…it nearly got me.  It almost took me in, but I broke free.  I found my way back, and when I opened my eyes, I saw you.  The person I most wanted to see.”  I blundered ahead, possessed by the heartbreaking memory of my earlier unspoken goodbye.  “Vince, I love you.”

Now that I had lobbed the 'L' bomb, I immediately regretted it and began to doubt my earlier intuition about his feelings.  With an embarrassed shrug, I loosened my urgent embrace, but Vince didn't let me go.  He hugged me even tighter and said the words that kept me tingling for the remainder of the afternoon.  “Lire, I love you too.  But, God!  Please—do me a favor, would you?  Stop scaring the crap out of me!”

I laughed weakly into the crook of his neck.  “I'll do my best.”

When I pulled away, Vince took the opportunity to cup my face with his free hand and dry my errant tears.  His tender expression warmed me, and I didn't wait for further encouragement to lean toward him for a brief kiss.  Vince's lips were delightfully yielding and sent sparks of pleasure and a wave of warmth throughout my body.  As we broke the kiss, I heard the sound of approaching footsteps and hastily sat up straight on the edge of the bed.  Vince smirked with amusement while I attempted to look casual.  The footsteps continued past our closed curtains to one of the neighboring beds.

While I attempted to ignore the doctor interview a woman about her wicked sounding cough, I turned toward Vince.  “I still haven't figured it out.  How did you know what was happening?  How did you find us?”

“I followed you, of course.  I wasn't about to hightail it back to the department after they pulled me off the case.  I told Jensen I was taking vacation time and spent some miserable nights in my car instead.”  He shook his head with disgust.  “Fat lot of good it did though.”

“What!  Are you kidding?  You risked your life for me.  If you hadn't been there, I'd probably still be lying on the ground with Jack unconscious and Red unable to call for help!”

Vince waved it away, as though his efforts were nothing special.

I shook my head with astonishment.  “You really cased my apartment?  Day and night?”

Vince looked slightlyuncomfortable.  “Yes.”

I felt a goofy, appreciative smile spread across my face before looking at him more seriously.  “I'll never forget what you did for me.  Never.  You're acting like it was nothing, but it means a lot.”  My voice broke, and I took a shaky breath.

Vince placed his right hand on my knee.  I tried to grasp it, but my hands weren't working properly.  I looked down.  A distinct ridge of purple, swollen flesh encircled my wrists, forming an almost identical copy of the demonic rope.  A square of white gauze was taped over the cut on my right palm.  I shuddered.

“They must hurt,” Vince murmured.

I sighed and nestled my head into the crook of his neck.  “Yeah, they do.  My ankles too.  But I'm lucky to be alive.”

Vince held me close, but after a moment, my thoughts turned toward all the other unanswered questions on my mind.  My expression became urgent, and I sat up straight.  "What about Jack.  Did he wake up?  What happened after I went through the portal?”

Vince looked at me sadly.  “Jack was alive, but out cold.  I wasn’t able to wake him.  When we're done here, we'll find out what's going on with him, okay?”  He paused briefly for my acknowledgement and then continued.  “There's not really much to tell about what happened after…”  Vince's jaw tightened noticeably and he sighed, but his voice remained relatively calm.  “When the demon disappeared, you collapsed.  I immediately checked and you were totally unconscious.  I figured you were going to be okay, like all the other times, until Red told me otherwise.”  He shook his head.  “Jensen and several other detectives from the department got there about twenty minutes after you collapsed, and then the first emergency helicopter arrived not long after.  Jack went out on the first chopper since I knew he had been unconscious for much longer than you.  The second helicopter came about ten minutes later.  I told Jensen about everything I witnessed, and then he ordered me into the helicopter with you.  That's about it.”

I nodded.  “Understatement of the year, but I'm just so glad it's all over.  I'm almost scared to hope that things will go back to normal now that Brian's dead.  My life has been turned upside down.  It's been one horrible thing after another.”  I closed my eyes and sighed.

Vince stroked my back and looked at me with a determined expression.  “It's over.  Things will definitely be better if I have anything to do with it.”

I regarded him uncertainly.  “Yeah?  You know, my powers haven't gone away.  They're still there—all of them…all four of them.  You sure you're okay with that?”

Although I could tell it was quite painful, Vince moved closer and looked at me earnestly.  “All I know is how I felt when Red told me you were dead.”  He shook his head.  “I don't care about your powers.  I care about you—the incredible person right here.  I want you in my life.”

I sighed happily and leaned in for a kiss, but we were interrupted by the arrival of one of the ER doctors.  Fortunately, the doctor discretely announced his presence before slowly opening the curtain.  When he entered, Vince and I were sitting casually, but I have to admit that maintaining a calm, bored expression wasn't easy.

The middle-aged man at the foot of the hospital bed wore the obligatory blue medical scrubs and introduced himself as Doctor Clint Fredericks.  I liked him instantly.  His friendly but efficient demeanor and open smile made me feel remarkably at ease.  A stethoscope was draped around his neck, and his blue eyes bounced back and forth between Vince and me before asking whos up first.

I insisted that the doctor examine Vince and made it clear that I didn't feel all that bad.  Predictably, Vince voiced the opposite.  I glared at him before the doctor chuckled and settled on Vince.  Much to my delight, this entailed the removal of Vince's shirt, although, it was obviously a painful process.  It upset me to see him aggravate his injury, but I'm embarrassed to say that I truly enjoyed the view.  Several times I felt my cheeks grow hot and hoped that nobody noticed.  After the doctor examined Vince's shoulder, he agreed that it was dislocated.  X-rays were needed before making the attempt to put it back into place.  Slightly chagrined, I watched Vince put on a hospital gown before he was whisked down the hall by an orderly.

After Vince departed, the doctor interviewed me for several minutes.  He wanted to know the circumstances that contributed to my loss of consciousness.  I hesitated briefly, before settling on an annotated version of the story.  In a shaky voice, I told him that I passed out when I witnessed Brian's murder, which explained how I hit my head.  It was the truth.  I just left out the part about the demon.

Doctor Fredericks checked the lump on my head, listened to my heart and lungs, checked my reflexes, examined my pupils, and made me perform several balance tests.  He also examined the cut on my palm and then looked at the bruises on my wrists and ankles.  Unfortunately, only time would tell if the bindings had caused nerve damage.  After a couple weeks, if the numbness and diminished fine motor response didn't improve, he advised me to make an appointment with a specialist.  Finally, Doctor Fredericks made me aware of additional symptoms that obligated my immediate return to the emergency room—severe headache, nausea, vomiting, etc.  As he handed me a package of cloth psi-free gloves, Doctor Fredericks told me he'd have a nurse clean the cut on my hand and then come back when it was time to fix Vince's shoulder.

Before I had the chance to retrieve Red from Vince's black bag, Daniel showed up.  He didn't stay long.  To my relief, he informed me that Invisius was taking a wait-and-see approach where I was concerned.  It was obvious that he was relieved and happy to see that I survived, but because he had allowed me a brief peek into his mind earlier, I knew that some of this pleasure was politically motivated.  Oh, his concerned feelings for me were genuine, but it was pretty clear that he was using our relationship to further his power base within the ranks of Invisius.  The prophecy was alive and well, whether I agreed with it or not.  Judging by Daniel’s demeanor, I guessed that his clout had blossomed exponentially.

Honestly, I didn’t care whether Daniel took advantage of our relationship, as long as Invisius stayed out of my life.  I had no desire to have any further dealings with their stupid club, nor did I want to know details of Daniel’s palace revolution, which I made abundantly clear.

Daniel asked if there was anything he could do for me personally.  I ignored his subtle inflection on the word 'personally' and told him about Jack and the taxi driver.  Since both men were injured by Brian's mind control, I asked that he repair the damage to their minds.  I suggested that he find Jack first, since he was somewhere in the hospital.  Other than that, I just wanted Invisius to stay out of my life.  Daniel smiled sympathetically and didn’t press me any further.  Before leaving, he handed me a card with his mobile number and instructions to call anytime.

I watched him leave with mixed feelings.  It was my sincere hope that Daniel had enough political capital with Invisius to ensure a lifelong cease-fire.  But, just in case, I planned to make Claude’s bracelet a permanent accessory.

When Vince returned, he was clearly displeased to hear about the visit from Daniel, which made me really glad he had just missed him.  I didn't know whether it was because Daniel was a part of Invisius, or because of our childhood relationship, or the negative experience of our earlier meeting, but Vince definitely did not like him.  He made sure to tell me more than once that he didn't trust 'that guy' and I'd be smart to keep my distance from him in the future.  The scowl on his face didn't abate until a nurse arrived to give him an IV drip and administer the muscle relaxer.

With notable anxiety, I stayed with Vince and watched the 'dislocation reduction procedure', although, I decided that the terminology made the whole thing sound worse than it actually was.  The procedure required Vince to lie flat on the hospital bed while the nurse wound a bed sheet under his armpit and applied counter traction.  The doctor then manipulated Vince's arm to help guide the dislocated bone back into place.  Because Vince was so doped up on drugs, I don't think it fazed him all that much.  My personal fringe benefit was that the whole process provided me with another glorious view of Vince's muscular torso, which didn't suck.  Although, I'm sure I would have enjoyed the ogling much more readily if I wasn't worried about the process being painful for him.

While we waited for Vince's medication to wear off, the nurse stayed to clean the wound on my hand.  Finally, after she applied the bandage, the nurse departed, and I had the opportunity to speak with Red.  Fortunately Vince had recovered enough to help me with the zipper on the duffel bag.  When the bag opened, Red practically jumped out and into my arms.

“Oh, Red!”  It was all I could say.  I sat next to the bed where Vince was recovering and hugged my beloved companion with trembling arms.  Silent tears once again blurred my vision.

“Dearest Lire.  When Paimon took you away, I despaired.  I gave up all hope.  Even now, I can hardly believe you're here and it isn't some evil trick, but my soul confirms…it's really you.”

I whispered into his soft fur, struggling to keep my voice subdued.  “Red, I love you so much.”  I sniffled and choked back my unshed tears by taking a long, shuddering breath.  “I want to tell you everything, but it'll have to wait.  This isn't the place for it.  Someone could walk in.”

“I know.  There will be plenty of time later,” he said quietly.

Red gave my face one final squeeze before sliding down my arm toward the open top of the duffel bag.  When he was safely inside, Vince groggily zipped the bag shut, and I gently replaced it next to the bed.

As soon as we were both officially discharged, Vince immediately set out to locate Jack, even though I suspected that his shoulder remained quite painful.  I'm sure he probably would have preferred to leave for the comfort of my loft, instead troop around the hospital, but Vince was determined to put my mind at ease.  I was grateful and touched by his effort.  When we found out that Jack was in the ICU, I worried that Daniel had failed or decided against fulfilling my wish.

Since I wasn't a family member, Vince spoke with a nurse and used his police influence to get a meeting with the on-call doctor responsible for Jack's care.  (Although, I have to say, Vince hardly had to bat an eye before the she acquiesced.  He just seemed to have a way with women.)  After patiently waiting for nearly twenty minutes, a doctor emerged to tell Vince that Jack was finally showing tentative signs of regaining consciousness.  I still didn't know whether there was going to be lasting damage from Brian's mind control, but I was relieved and hopeful that Jack would recover fully.

Hoping to dodge the reporters, we arranged to meet Julie down in the parking garage for a ride to my apartment.  By the time we had finished hearing about Jack and made our way to the parking garage, Julie was waiting for us.  While she drove, she fished for details about my ordeal, but bless her heart, she was sincerely understanding when I told her I didn’t want to talk about it just yet.

My apartment never felt so cozy as it did that night, and I know Vince’s presence had much to do with it.  I doted on him, feeding him dinner and fluffing pillows, while he comforted me with his calm, understanding demeanor.  In an effort to soothe my inner turmoil, he gently coaxed the entire story out of me, from start to finish, every ghastly detail, almost without distress.  I knew my account was destined for his police report, but it was just as clear that he wanted to help me overcome my ordeal.  Talking about it was the first step.

With my reluctant permission, he took pictures of my injuries with his cell phone camera.  I half hoped that his police report would spare me repeating the whole horrible story to Jensen or Cunningham later—although it was probably a futile wish.

I’ll be honest; Vince was my savior that first night at home.  When I asked him in a bashful voice to sleep with me in my bed, Vince acquiesced without the slightest hint of a leer.  It was clear that he was in no shape for any funny business and just as obvious that I was suffering from post-traumatic stress.  Later that night, when I woke from a terror filled dream with a scream choking my throat, Vince snuggled close and soothed me until I fell back into a fitful sleep.

I knew that the coming days and weeks weren’t going to be easy and my future was bound to be complicated, but the thought of sharing my life with Vince sent tingles all the way down to my toes.

I guess being a fire-starting, levitating, ice-freezing clairvoyant might not be half bad.  Who knew?

About the Author

Katherine currently lives with her husband and three children in Northern California.  In addition to reading and writing, she enjoys paper crafting, photography, and karate.

Photo by Sarina Hamer.

Table of Contents

DEADLY REMAINS

Acknowledgements

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

About the Author