Love Charms (124 page)

Chapter
Fourteen

I awoke, I don’t know how much later, in
a small dark room. A single window, high above my head, let in the sun and
illuminated my surroundings. Not that there was much to see. The room was small
as a walk-in closet with stark white walls, its only furnishing a cot that
squeaked more than a mouse. The steel door proved to be locked, and the window
was barred. Escape was not an option. I would have to cut through at least four
bars to make a space large enough for me to pass through. Athena probably
wouldn’t leave me in one place long enough to accomplish such a time intensive
task--from the history I sensed in the room, no one stayed long. Fortunately, I
didn’t get any feedback that said people died in the room, just a lot of
waiting and staring up at the window in fear. No, there was nothing to do but
wait and hope someone made a mistake.

And pray they made it soon.

My astral rapist still had Vera. Jacob’s
body was lying somewhere in the Wastelands, and the dragons were about to, not
only be evicted from Fairy, but attempt to invade and take over the human
world. Not to mention the zombies that were on the loose all over Boston. For a
lone psychic, my to-do list was getting pretty long. I wondered if Vera had
seen my predicament in her scrying and, if she had, why hadn’t she given some
warning? I would’ve at least tried to hide a cell phone on me somewhere, or a
knife, or chocolate. Something...
anything
to make me feel less
powerless.

Aggravated, I sighed and pushed myself
off the cot to pace the room. If Vera and I survived this, we were going to
have a serious chat about her ‘don’t tell people their future’ rule. I couldn’t
fathom how knowing what was coming could make it suck any less than it already
did. It was one thing for her not to say anything about Mark, but if Mark had
been the beginning of a long downhill run in my life, a good friend would’ve
told me. If I had known I was going to become a serial boyfriend killer, I
could’ve consigned myself to a nunnery before I did any more damage.

Several hours later, I had paced all I
could pace, sat on the cot until the squeaking made me want to claw my ears
off, and settled Indian-style on the cool tile floor until my butt cheeks were
numb. The light in the room slowly faded to a gray dusk, and, with the dark,
came an oppressive silence. When the sun had shined, an occasional bird would
twitter by, but now there was nothing but empty quiet and blind night that
lulled me into a light sleep.

Some time later, a loud metallic clang
woke me. I jumped at the noise, my heart racing and looked wildly about trying
to see through the inky black that pressed down on me. Footsteps sounded, heavy
and full of purpose. I sat up, my breath stopped in my throat as they pounded
closer and closer to stop outside my door. Metal screeched and something slid
across the floor illuminated by a too-bright flashlight.

It was a tray of food pushed in through a
small slot in the bottom of the door. I caught a glimpse of a sandwich and a
bottle of water before the metal divider was slammed down. The footsteps
stomped off, leaving me to feel for the tray in the dark, bright spots dancing
in my eyes from the sudden harsh light.

I ate the sandwich, shoveling it down in
a few big bites, barely tasting the turkey and Swiss cheese. The water I only
sipped. There was no toilet in the room and, while I could pee in a corner if I
had to, I would rather not. Sooner or later, someone would have to let me out
to use the bathroom, at least I hoped so. I could've just dropped my shields
and gone deeper into my cell’s history to find out for sure, but that meant
learning every gory detail of what happened to the people before me, and I
wasn't ready to know the past that was about to be my future.

The renegades might keep their activities
a secret, but their scare tactics were always public. They were a violent,
aggressive organization that pursued their interests with a tenacity that did
not respect human life. If I wasn’t useful, if I posed more of a threat than a
benefit, I had no doubt I would end up on the wrong side of a weapon and wash
up on a sandy beach somewhere, green and bloated with rotting fluids. That was
the picture I kept forcefully pushing from my mind. I didn’t really want to add
anymore. Besides, using psychic abilities to divine whether or not I would be
able to use a bathroom seemed a little...well, cheesy.

Sandwich eaten, I lay back on the cot,
holding myself as still as possible to keep the squeaking at a minimum. As the
night deepened, the temperature dropped and a stiff wind swirled through the
window, raising goose bumps on my skin. I rolled on my side, back against the
wall, and put my hands between my knees to keep them warm. It promised to be a
miserable night, and sleeping wasn’t going to improve things. Would the man who
had Vera, come for me again? Had he killed her already? I stared out into the
dark, wondering what nightmare would find me next, until I succumbed to fatigue.

This time, there was no subtle invitation
to come to the afterworld so much as a forcible eviction from my body into the
astral plane. As before, he hid in the astral fog, face obscured,
unrecognizable except for his voice.

“Where are you?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve been
kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped?”

“By renegades.”

He laughed then, an annoying nasal whine.
“Who took you?”

“A woman named Athena.”

“Tall, with short dark hair?”

“Yes, that’s her.”

“I know her. I’ll make arrangements to
come get you.”

His answer didn’t surprise me. I just
looked at him, unable to imagine how this would be an improvement over my
current predicament. “What about Vera. Is she....” I trailed off unable to
finish.

“Oh, she’s fine.” He spoke with such
casual indifference that I didn’t believe him.

“If you hurt her, I won’t cooperate.”

He laughed again, shoulders shaking with
the force of his amusement. “I don’t think you’re in a position to bargain, but
I admire the effort. Now, I must go. I have business to attend to.” With that,
he disappeared, leaving me to float aimlessly through the drab over world
alone.

Eyes closed, I cast about to see if I was
as alone as I felt. I had run into others up here before. Psychics sometimes
‘dream walked’ in the astral plane, perhaps I could find someone to ask for
help. Of course, help would be a complicated thing to arrange as, thanks to the
zombie detective, I was probably listed as a wanted fugitive. Help might come,
but with hand cuffs.

Still, I would take hand cuffs over the
renegades and Vera’s mystery kidnaper any day. Unless the cops were all
zombies, in which case, I was well and truly fucked. If one zombie could pass
for human, maybe they all could. Maybe we didn’t know as much as we thought we
did about raising the dead.

I lingered as long as I could on the
astral plane, hoping someone would appear. It was my only shot at help, but I
felt nothing around me. No spark of a kindred spirit, just a silent vacuum. The
astral plane would offer no solutions to me tonight. As dawn approached, my
conscious mind stirred, reaching to pull me back to my body.

Sunbeams glowed red behind my eyelids and
with a groan, I shielded my face from the morning sun and sat up. Heavy fatigue
draped itself across my shoulders. Spending all night out of my body was pretty
much the same as not sleeping at all. I rubbed my bleary eyes and stumbled to
my feet to stretch.

Just a few minutes later, the clash of
steel-on-steel and more footsteps sounded. I stood still, hoping there was a
bathroom in my future. Despite rationing my fluid intake, my bladder was full
and peeing in a corner was looking really attractive. I held my breath as the
steps came closer, praying the door would open and someone would take me to a
bathroom.

The universe must have been feeling benevolent
that morning as the door swung open to reveal a compact, hulking man with jet
black hair and a matching soul patch. A white T-shirt strained to cover his
bulging chest, and black jeans hung low on his waist so that the elastic
waistband of his blue plaid boxers were visible. Without a word, he gestured
for me to come forward with the crook of one sausage finger. I did as he
indicated, and he led me down a Spartan hallway steering me with one large hand
clamped on my wrist. We passed several steel doors like mine on the way to a
damp, mildewed bathroom that didn’t look like it had been cleaned in a very
long time. A circle of brown scum marked the waterline in the toilet bowl and a
wet, fetid odor hung in the air. I’d seen cleaner bathrooms in bars.

My escort shoved me inside and slammed
the door behind me with a gruff, “Make it quick.”

I did my best not to touch the toilet
seat and to keep my clothes from making contact with the walls or floor. Like
any good kidnap victim, I looked for a weapon or escape route, but found
neither. The bathroom was a windowless room lit by a lone light bulb too high
for me to reach. I even lifted off the lid to the toilet tank and examined the
plumbing for any possible weapons, but everything was made of plastic and I was
not a hotshot CIA agent with advanced skills in making weapons out of random
plastic parts. Just a lousy, part-time psychic P.I.

With a sigh, I washed my hands in the
grime-coated sink and splashed my face with cold water. I was drying my face on
my shirt when the door swung open and a hand clamped down on my wrist again to
yank me back into the hallway. I blinked water out of my eyes and staggered,
trying to find my feet before the guard ended up dragging me behind him like
the proverbial cave man.

Instead of going back to the ‘cell’, I
was led to the end of the hallway and outside. The sun hit my eyes like a slap
forcing me to squeeze them shut for several seconds while my pupils adjusted,
all while continuing to trot behind my escort. When I could see again, I found
myself walking through a large garden filled with trimmed shrubs and uneven
cobblestone paths. I craned my head to see where I had come from. A barn with
an attached squat, one-story building stood behind me. From the barred windows,
I assumed I had been staying in that building. Up ahead, loomed a large Tudor
mansion. I bet every room had a bathroom and a clean one at that.

Soul Patch (as I christened him) took me
to a side entrance in the Tudor manse. Pushing me in front of him, we marched
through a kitchen decorated in black-and-white checkered tile, down a hall, and
into an ornate sitting room. The floral patterned furniture, gilded ceiling,
and plush electric blue carpet proved that money couldn’t buy taste. In the
corner, an oak desk gleamed in the morning sun, and behind it, sat Athena,
typing busily on a laptop, a cell phone wedged between her chin and shoulder.

At her nod, Soul Patch, forced me down
into a Queen Anne chair. Taking what looked to be a plastic garbage tie from
his back pocket, he tied my arms behind me. Unable to lean back because of my
hands, I had to perch on the very edge of the chair. Out of habit, I ‘read’ the
chair and immediately wished I hadn’t. Oh it was a genuine antique and in great
condition, but along with that information, poured in the impressions of
everyone else who had sat in my place. None of them had been happy. Scared and
terrified, yes, but never happy. It did not bode well for me. I took a breath,
pulling my energy back until I had broken the connection.

Athena looked me up and down, a slow
smile spreading across her face. “Speak of the devil, she’s right her sitting
in front of me.” She paused, listening. “No, don’t worry. We’ll keep an eye on
her. A few days is not an inconvenience at all, I understand why you would want
to wait.

Noticing me listening, she turned her
back and conducted the rest of the conversation in a hoarse whisper. All I
caught before she said goodbye was, “What an interesting surprise. Be sure to
let me know how she takes it.”

Clicking the cell phone shut with a flick
of her wrist, Athena stood and stalked over to me--her high-heeled boots made
anything so mundane as walking impossible. She leaned down, crystal blue eyes
searching my dark ones. “I have good news for you, you’ve already been sold.”

“Sold?” To whom? My astral stalker? What
if I went to the wrong person? Then Vera would have no chance of rescue. Just
when it seemed nothing else could possibly go wrong, it did. Amazing how that
kept happening to me. Not to mention depressing.

Athena mistook my reaction and said,
“What did you think? I was going to bring you back to dump you in a shallow
grave? For a psychic you’re pretty thick. If I wanted you dead, I would’ve left
you in the Wastelands with lover boy. But you’re much more valuable alive.
Psychics are in short supply. Besides, you’re no threat to me...so long as one
of my contacts is in control of your fate.”

Gripping my elbow with a sharp manicured
hand, Athena pulled me out of the chair. “Come. I want to show you around.”

Walking in tandem, we left the sitting
room and passed through the kitchen again to a door that, when opened, revealed
steps leading down to a cool, gray basement. Rows of fluorescent lights lined
the ceiling casting their harsh light down on a beehive of activity. Long
tables covered with phones, computers, and paperwork lined the perimeter of the
basement. People, regular humans, no Sidhe or other magical species that I
could tell, ran to-and-fro, frantic concentration on their faces. Loud
conversations about trucking and shipping filled the air punctuated with irate
swear words when, apparently, things weren’t going as planned.