hand of hate 01 - destiny blues (6 page)

“That’s different.  Patty Vincent never registered her demon.”
 

“Can you blame her? You might as well walk around with a big ‘D’ for demon branded on your forehead. I mean, for the rest of your life, you’re on some list somewhere. People with demons are forced to live with the stigma for the rest of their lives. I heard they put you on a permanent no-fly list, and after that train crash in Portugal last year, the anti-terrorism folks are talking about requiring passports for trains now, too. As soon as you catch a demon, your life is ruined. I’ve got to get rid of these things before they show up permanently. Before it’s too late.”
 

“Hel-lo, earth to Mattie. You don’t have teratosis, you’re psychic. You register. It’s nothing. Don’t you pay attention to the news?”
 

I shifted in my seat uncomfortably. “What if I don’t want to get registered? The guys at work would never understand.”
 

“Oh come on. Don’t be such a baby. Anyway, I’ll check the books tomorrow, and see if I can find a local expert who can tell us about Senequois spirit messengers. Remember my yoga instructor, Sonja? She has a couple of paranormal clients. Actually, the politically correct term is Anomalous Individuals. Or what about that lady I used to go to? Madame Coumlie. She’s the real thing. She must be registered.”
 

The name sounded familiar, but I drew a blank.  
 

“You know, the Hand of Fate.”
 

I remembered a horrid old witch with black-stained hands, shouting at us to get off her porch at Halloween.
 

“The dwarf? I’d rather dance buck naked down Third Street than be caught dead anywhere near that old fraud. That stuff isn’t real; it’s just a show for the tourists. I need real help here, not some cheesy fortuneteller. No way.”
 

“First of all, she’s not a dwarf, she’s a midget, and the correct term is ‘little person’. Secondly, Herbert Hoover recognized her as a national treasure and gave her a presidential pardon. They even made a movie about her. She is definitely not a fake.”
 

I frowned. Hand of Fate my ass.
 

“Look, I told you I don’t want anyone else to hear about this. Not Lance or Mike or anybody at work.  They already think I’m nuts. And even if I am psychic, how does that get rid of my problem? I can’t live like this.”
 

“Stop worrying so much about what other people think. I think it’s cool!” She laughed, but it was a good laugh, and I knew she was trying hard to make me feel better.  
 

I sighed. “Okay, maybe you’re right. I hate the idea of all the voo-doo woo-woo stuff, but at this point, it doesn’t make much difference to me whether these things are demons or spirits.”
 

“I will check those books tomorrow morning, and call you as soon as I find anything. Things will work out, you’ll see.”  
 

“I hope so. I just can’t lose my job over this. I want my life back.”   
 

CHAPTER 8
 

Insistent knocking roused me from a dead sleep. I cracked an eye in the direction of my bedside clock, which said nine-thirty. I experienced a momentary flash of panic when I thought I’d overslept for work, but then I remembered. Oh yeah. I closed my eyes and savored the pleasant whoosh of the fan oscillate a wave of soft air across my exposed skin. I winced as a fresh surge of pseudo stink assailed my sensibilities.  I cracked another eye in the direction of the foot of my bed, where four putrid creatures stared back at me.   
 

I groaned, and threw my pillow right through them.  
 

“Oh for Pete’s sake.” I closed my eyes, renewed in my determination to get rid of these little stinkers once and for all. Nothing was more important.    
 

The knocking turned to pounding. It couldn’t be Lance; we agreed he would take Mina to school this morning, and I would pick her up this afternoon. Karen would be at work at the library, and my landlady Patty was locked up, unable to post bail. I lived in the apartment over her garage, but I’d noticed a FOR SALE sign on the front lawn when I got home last night. Probably a realtor.   
 

The banging continued. I grabbed my robe from the hook on the bathroom door. “Just a minute,” I yelled, and the infernal noise stopped. Yay.
 

I padded downstairs. A very large man stood on my very small porch. He was wearing a western-cut suit, white shirt, black string tie, and cowboy boots. The military haircut enhanced his receding hairline. Alert blue eyes stared back at me without expression. Cop eyes. Definitely not real estate.  
 

“What do you want?”
 

“Matilda Blackman?”   
 

Must be official business; no one else would use that name.
 

“Who wants to know?”
 

The guy was big. Not fat, but barrel-chested. Probably played football in college. He looked like a cop, but I knew everyone in the police department. I braced my bare foot behind the door, knowing it would be useless if he decided to use those boots.
 

He handed me his identification. FBI. My heart skipped a beat. The photo matched the guy’s face. Special Agent Frank Porter.  
 

“I’m a Paranormal Control Investigator, attached to the FBI Counterterrorism task force. I received a report that you may be the victim of a psychic attack. May I come in?”
 

My bladder tweaked at me. Oh lordy, I was so not ready to deal with this. I should have gone to the bathroom before I answered the door. And coffee. I needed lots of coffee. I had the feeling I wasn’t going to like what Porter had to say, but I asked anyway.  
 

“Where did you hear that?”
 

“We conducted a raid on Merle Shine’s Pest Control yesterday. We had a court order to shut the place down for tax evasion and engaging in deceptive business practices, among other things.” Hard eyes stared directly into mine, searching for the slightest reaction.   
 

My heart fluttered like a trapped moth, and I gulped hard against the first tremors of a giggle. Focus Mattie. The guy couldn’t yank my chain unless I let him. I hadn’t done anything wrong.   
 

“In the process of conducting the search, we discovered several unregistered demons on the premises, and your name in their appointment book. When we looked up your address, we realized we already had your landlady in custody on a similar charge. May I come in?”
 

An involuntary shiver shook me. Porter’s blue eyes narrowed.  
 

“Um, this is a bad time. Can you come back later?”
 

“This is standard procedure, Ms. Blackman. You are not under suspicion of anything illegal. I’m here to follow up on a report that you may be a victim of a paranormal terrorist attack by demons. I am required by federal law to debrief you within twenty-four hours of such notice. You are of course free to have your attorney present during the interview, but I assure you that unless there are extenuating circumstances, the matter takes a few minutes and is entirely routine.”
 

Here he was giving me serious cop face, and I hadn’t even had coffee yet. This guy was starting to get on my nerves. I didn’t want to talk to him at all, least of all now. My bladder protested, throbbing with the rhythm of my nervous heartbeat.  
 

“This must be some mistake. I’m not being attacked. It’s just—um, hard to explain.”  
 

“I must warn you, there are laws against invoking or fraternizing with demons or other teratozoids. The penalties are severe.”
 

Holy moley, he was making a big deal out of this, and he was a whole lot better at the stone-face game than me. Under his sharp stare I felt as vulnerable as a water balloon. I thought of the horde of baby demons sitting on my bed upstairs. This was my opportunity to come clean, but all I could think about was increasingly urgent need to pee. I had to get rid of him.
 

“Can’t we do this some other time?” I looked down at my robe. “I’m not exactly ready for uninvited visitors.” It came out sharper than I intended. “No offense.”
 

“I will have your statement by end of the day today or a warrant will be issued for your arrest.” Porter took a half-step closer, and I nearly slammed the door on him. He was crossing the line here, and we both knew it. But if I got arrested, I would lose my job for sure.
 

Alarm flooded through me, fueling my panic. “What kind of statement?  What do you want from me?”  
 

He must have seen my distress, because he backed off a little. “I assure you, it’s just routine. A few questions and a couple of quick diagnostic tests. Depending on the results, you may have a few extra forms to fill out.”  
 

“What if I fail the test?”
 

He gave me an irritated smirk. “They’re not that kind of tests. It’s more like getting your blood typed.  The test procedure merely records the body’s involuntary response to stimulus. It detects psychic sensitivity and helps determine the type and magnitude of your ability.”  
 

I pulled my robe up around my neck and wondered if Agent Porter had any psychic abilities, and if he did, whether he could read my mind. What if he was able to detect my animal-spirit-demons?  Goosebumps raced up my arms. Get a grip, Mattie. I took a deep breath. Maybe I was making a bigger deal out of this than it deserved.   
 

“Okay, okay. Look, I have to pick up my niece from school at three-thirty. Could I come to your office before then?”
 

He took out a card and scribbled something on the back before handing it to me.
 

“Two o’clock. The office is in downtown Rochester. That’s my cell phone number. Call if you’re going to be late.”
 

“I’ll be there.”
 

“Be sure you are.” He turned heel and walked down the driveway without making a sound. I wondered if his cowboy boots had rubber soles.  
 

No sooner had I closed the door than my phone rang. I ran upstairs to answer.
 

“Madame Blackman’s house of the criminally insane.”
 

“You won’t believe what I found,” said Karen.
 

“You won’t believe what just happened.”
 

“There’s a guy, right here in the Shore who knows all about spirit messengers. And listen, he’s a mage.  He’s an expert on the spirit lore and Senequois Indian legends.”
 

“The FBI came to my house. The agent told me if I don’t go for an interview today, he’ll arrest me.”
 

“He’s a mage! Is that too cool or what?”
 

I had to admit, Karen had come through for me, but I wasn’t sure how this information would help, exactly.  
 

“If I get arrested, I’m out of a job.”
 

“You’re not going to lose your job. Can’t you see? This is good news. You’re not crazy, and you don’t have teratosis. You’re just discovering your psychic abilities. Remember Sonja? She got tested last year. She said it was a piece of cake.  They ask you a few questions and take your picture. That’s it. She said it’s like getting your driver’s license renewed.”
 

“He sounded pretty serious.”
 

“She said it took less than an hour. Two weeks later, she got a registration card in the mail.  I can’t believe my best friend is a psychic!”
 

“That guy intimidated me. He was so, I don’t know, official.”
 

“You worry too much. Sonja said it’s helped her expand her business, and given her more connections in the paranormal community. She’s even going to host a booth at this year’s Spirit Festival.”
 

“Now you’re making fun of me.” I conjured up images of wackadoo fortunetellers with their big gold earrings and crystal balls. Every year they turned my hometown into a new-age freak show. “I don’t want to be psychic. It’s tacky.”
 

“I think it’s sooo exotic.”
 

“You make it sound better than it is, I’ll bet.”   
 

“You’re going to thank me for this when you meet the mage. His name is Rhys Warrick. He runs that Mystic Properties place in the Shore.”
 

Another one. “I’ll bet he does.  You know him?”
 

“No, I’m looking at an article in the archives. He’s got all kinds of degrees. It says he’s a guest professor-emeritus, researching the local Senequois, their legends and shaman rituals. And I found a ton of stuff on animal totems.”
 

“You sound way too happy about this whole thing. How is this going to help me get rid of them?”
 

“It’s too much to tell over the phone, and I can’t wait to show you what I found. Let’s meet for lunch, and I can explain. Trust me, you are going to love this!”