by T. G. Ayer
Cassia smoothed her skirt down, tamping down her anger with the same action. I really shouldn’t bait her. She did take care of Samuel. But I wouldn’t care less if she left. I’d just hire someone else to look after him.
I turned my back on her and left her to stew in her fury, taking the threadbare stairs two by two, knowing even Cassia would disapprove. Poor Cassia. Samuel’s niece hadn’t inherited his teleportation powers; being born normal into an almost entirely magical family was a great burden to bear. The problem with Cassia was that she bore it with vicious anger.
Sighing, I pushed Samuel’s door open and walked silently to the table by the window. Today, he sat in his rocking chair beside the open bay windows. White gauze curtains billowed on a soft breeze and he seemed to gaze out at the trees, but I knew he saw nothing of the view. My heart twisted for him.
I drew a rickety chair close and sat beside him. “Hello, Samuel,” I said, taking his hand in mine. His skin was paper thin, the fingers bony, muscles weak and wiry. His hand twitched as I held it and I smiled. I knew he knew when I visited.
Samuel Fontaine was not an old man. He was in his late thirties, not the age of a man who should be lingering in a rocking chair. I stared at his once handsome face, high cheekbones now jutting out too far, and gorgeous green eyes now faded to a pale luminous non-color.
But sexy Samuel had been gone a long, long time. Ever since his brain got scrambled doing a jump for me.
What a way to go. My hand tightened on his and I had to force myself to remember his frailty. I began to pull away when his fingers gripped mine with an intensity I hadn’t felt in months. My heart stuttered as I stared at him, eyes wide.
“Mel?” his voice rasped, as though he hadn’t used it in years.
“Samuel? Yes, it’s me.” I nodded and smiled, tears threatening to overflow.
He blinked, his expression slightly unfocused. Then he frowned. “Are you eating? You look skinny.”
I snorted. “Don’t worry about me. It’s you we are concerned about. We need you back, Sam-Sam.” I leaned close and he placed a palm on my cheek. The curtains billowed into the room, white clouds surrounding us in this impossible dream.
“I know, baby. But I’m not done yet,” he said, smiling. “The girl . . . she needs me.”
My stomach tightened. “What do you mean?”
A few seconds of silence crawled by as Samuel studied my face with far away pale green eyes. “Patience, Melisande. And don’t forget what I taught you,” he said softly, his voice fading. “Don’t forget . . .”
“Samuel?” I called him, but I knew he was already gone, and my heart ached for him.
“He spoke to you?” Cassia’s voice rang out, so harsh and cold it dropped the temperature in the room by a few degrees. Maybe the woman was magical after all.
“Yes,” I whispered, still holding on to his hand. He’d spoken. He was still there. And what had he meant? “I’m not done yet?” What did that mean?
“What did he say?” Her question broke through my thoughts, an angry tide breaking onto my happy, grateful shore.
I looked up at Cassia and grinned. “He said I was skinny. And he told me not to forget what he’d taught me.” I didn’t see any reason to tell her the rest. I suspected she’d overheard the last of Samuel’s words so that’s just what I gave her.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Cassia snapped, her honey eyes flashing. “He hasn’t been lucid for months, and you waltz in and he just talks to you out of the blue and says don’t forget what he taught you?” She snorted, hands on her hips, eyes wide. “Who the hell do you think you are? You just come in here whenever you feel like, say whatever you want and then leave him to me? Who do you think looks after him? And he talks to you?” Her laugh was hoarse, underlined by a deep bitterness.
I watched Cassia, her anger an almost palpable thing. She was struggling with her own burdens, but all I wanted to do was to slap her as hard as I could across the face.
“You know what? I’m a bit tired of your whining and moaning. I know you’ve had it tough, but we all have our own bloody demons to deal with. As far as I’m concerned you can just suck it up.” The color drained from her skin and I was certain she wasn’t sure whether to be shocked, upset, or angry. “Take Samuel, for instance, he’s way worse off than you. Maybe someday we will have him back—from what he said today, I am hoping his condition is temporary and wherever he is he’s okay and he will come back. But until then we have to wait. So, quit feeling sorry for yourself. If you feel this is all too much and looking after Samuel is a burden, then by all means leave. I’m sure we can find someone else to take care of him.”
I’d never voiced my opinion to Cassia before. I’d always steered clear of her, left her to her anger. Now, in the face of my words and my own fury, she seemed startled, unsure of herself.
“You can’t make me leave.” She lifted her chin.
Really? After everything I said, that was all she got? “I’m not making you leave, Cassia. I’m just saying if you aren’t happy taking care of Samuel, we can find someone else.” I was careful to use the word we. A gentle reminder that my presence here was with the kind permission of Samuel’s extended family. Not that I needed their permission, but they had eased Cassia into accepting me in the house and I appreciated that.
Now, I watched Samuel’s niece as she considered my words. She didn’t respond and for Cassia, being short of words was unusual. Then she turned abruptly on her heel and left the room.
“Well, I suppose I got my answer, then,” I said to myself.
Samuel chuckled and when I glanced at him, a little shocked, my heart sank with disappointment at the blank expression in his eyes. Then he tilted his head and stared out the window. Sighing, I got to my feet and kissed his cheek. I walked out of the room and left him there alone again.
As I drove, all I could think about were Samuel’s words.
I’m not done yet. The girl . . . she needs me.
Chapter 3
Saleem
Saleem shifted in his seat. It felt like he was sitting on a rock rather than the supposedly comfortable seat in Chief Roger Murdoch’s office at the Chicago police station. Saleem eyed Pete Fulbright who commandeered the seat beside him, the man’s stomach making him look more like a whale every time he breathed.
Saleem didn’t like the guy he’d been assigned to. Didn’t appreciate his attitude toward his job or toward his investigations. But Saleem was going to give Pete Fulbright the benefit of the doubt.
And Saleem supposed his own presence would do some good in allaying suspicions that Chief Murdoch wasn’t taking full responsibility for Fulbright’s investigation of a paranormal operative.
Fulbright’s sudden aggressive interest in Melisande Morgan had caught the attention of the Supreme High Council, and because of their already established working relationship with the CPD they’d asked Omega—instead of their own investigative unit Sentinel—to look into it.
Omega and Sentinel, both powerful paranormal agencies, were interested in a rash of paranormal disappearances in the last six months, something that seemed to also have caught Fulbright’s attention.
“So, I trust you will ensure Saleem here has full access to all our Missing Persons files?” Chief Murdoch said as he rose from his seat.
Fulbright reddened as he stood, his back ramrod straight. “Of course, Chief.”
After he stalked out of the office and shut the door with a click, Saleem turned to Murdoch. “I don’t need those files, you know.” Chances were Omega’s files on the disappearances were much more substantial than what Fulbright could come up with.
Murdoch smiled from beneath his mustache. “Of course, I know that. It’s just better that Fulbright doesn’t.” The Chief sat, his massive frame threatening to crush his creaking chair.
“So? What has he been up to?” Saleem looked through the window at the warren of desks. Fulbright stood at one of them, flipping through a stack of files wh
ile repeatedly glancing at Murdoch’s glassed-in office. Fulbright’s stomach rose from mid-chest and hung low on his hips, so low over his waistband the man needed suspenders to hold his pants up. Not that body image bothered the detective at all.
“Investigating all of Mel’s cases, but especially focusing on the abductions and deaths involving paranormals. I don’t know how, but he’s managed to hone in on the paranormal cases too well for my comfort. Ask him yourself. He doesn’t mind sharing his suspicions.”
Saleem nodded and left the Chief’s office, heading to the two desks that sat facing each other. A floor-to-ceiling window looked out onto traffic and block after block of aging high-rises.
He sat, and the sound of the chair brought Fulbright’s head swiveling toward Saleem. Fulbright did not expect a conversation with Saleem. In fact, he’d made it clear enough he didn’t have much respect for Saleem or his presence. He’d barely glanced at Saleem since he’d arrived.
Saleem knew what that meant. Race always played a big part in heightening emotions. But he didn’t care. It was bad enough Saleem’s Persian descent was clear in his deep olive skin, dark hair and black eyes. As far as appearances went, Fulbright had Saleem pegged. But imagine if this normal human realized he had a bloody Djinn sitting next to him? A real, honest-to-goodness genie? He’d be off searching for a lamp so fast Saleem would probably choke on the detective’s dust.
Silencing a snort, Saleem sneaked a glance at his partner, then shifted in his seat again. Time to find out a little more of what made the whole Fulbright-Morgan relationship tick. “So, what’s the deal with you and Mel Morgan anyway?” Saleem asked, pasting on the innocent rookie face he’d practiced with his team-leader, Logan Westin, yesterday.
Fulbright gave Saleem an impatient glare as he stacked his files in a pile and pushed them aside. The detective took a deep breath, grunted. “Just something about her that doesn’t add up. Her ability to find people when we can’t is strangely coincidental. Most of the cases we close out as unsolved end up in her lap. And she solves them. Finds the people, dead or alive.”
“And you find that strange how?” The sounds of the office hummed around them. Saleem had his own reasons for being there, for watching Mel Morgan, and the more he knew about her the better.
“Nothing I can put my finger on really. Just strange.” Fulbright was being reticent and Saleem understood. Most cops didn’t like Omega, or Sentinel.
Saleem stared out the window for a moment, then looked at his new partner. Fulbright shifted and threw Saleem an annoyed glare.
“It’s an old case, nine years to be exact. A kid went missing. House trashed. Blood everywhere, parents’ throats slit. And this Morgan kid standing there, covered in blood, not saying a word. Then we found there’s a kid missing: Morgan’s younger sister Arianne. From the blood and the condition of the house, we knew the chances the girl was alive were slim to none, and Morgan was the main suspect. Case closed.” Fulbright shook his head.
“So why keep an eye on her now?” Saleem couldn’t keep the criticism from his voice but Fulbright was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn’t even seem aware.
“I’ve been looking at the files. And she’s just too good at her job to be…normal.”
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. “And this friend of hers you are investigating?” Saleem asked, almost afraid of the answer.
“A guy named Samuel Fontaine.” He went cold. Samuel, the Master Tracker. So Fulbright was on the paranormal trail after all. Saleem just had to find out how much he knew.
Saleem had heard of Fontaine. Powerful mage trackers were rare. Which is why almost every available paranormal tracker was on both Omega’s and Sentinel’s contractor lists. Including Melisande Morgan. And Fontaine. Until he’d toasted his gray cells on a jump.
If Morgan’s paranormal identity was blown, everyone else would soon follow. Fulbright was more dangerous than he could ever imagine.
Fulbright snorted, reminding Saleem of the detective’s unpleasant presence. Saleem didn’t want to talk to him anymore so he started up the computer and logged into Omega’s server to process his initial report.
Chapter 4
Mel
My thoughts were a blur, my mind returning to Samuel. What had he meant? Who was the girl he mentioned? My subconscious knew already where I intended to go, and though my mind replayed Samuel’s words over and over again, I drove myself through Chicago’s abandoned quarter, heading for Storm’s place.
Surely, he would be able to make some kind of sense of what Samuel had said. I parked and headed up the stairs of what used to be an old high-rise apartment building. Storm owned it now and housed a few hundred special kids, gifted kids, paranormals who were lost. I’d been one of those children not so long ago. Would have fallen through the cracks in the human system if Storm hadn’t found me. If the system had had its way, I’d have ended up in Juvie with all the hardened human delinquents. That would not have been good for them.
But I’d been lucky. I met Dr. Chloe Murdoch and that got the ball rolling in Storm’s direction. The cop in charge had wanted an assessment, had been positive he’d get one back saying I was at least a little disturbed, especially considering they had found me standing in the middle of my bedroom, covered in blood and frozen in place. He’d called in a social worker, Dr. Murdoch, hoping to get a recommendation to have me put in Juvie. Only it didn’t work that way. Not for the doctor or Chief Roger Murdoch.
Chloe Murdoch just so happened to be a Sensitive. I’d been supercharged after the murder, so high on adrenaline I couldn’t see straight, scared of anything that moved. The experience of witnessing my parents slaughtered had shocked me so badly I’d teleported for the first time, my mind and body lost in the ether. Terrified, I’d struggled to get back despite having no idea how. Panic or adrenaline worked eventually, and I’d returned to my body, back in my room to the bodies of my dead parents.
And to a missing sister.
By the time I’d been taken in to see Dr. Murdoch I’d wet myself, from fear, from waiting too long, who knows. Chloe helped get me cleaned up, got me some fresh clothing and calmed me down just by laying her hands on me. I didn’t know it at the time, but Chloe had the ability to take away fear and anxiety just by touch. And she’d chosen the best profession to be in to use such a gift.
I hadn’t needed a sedative or anything, just Chloe holding my hand and stroking the back of it, asking me silly questions like what my favorite ice-cream was, and did I like shaved ice or cotton candy. I could hear the cops in the next room—I still had a connection to them, could still smell their scent on me. One of them had grabbed my arm a few times so I had a strong link to his feedback—at the time I’d had no idea what it was called—which tended to pull me toward his thoughts.
Later I would learn that attaching myself to a person’s feedback wasn’t the easiest thing to do, nor was it easy on the body.
He was fuming, thinking Chloe was full of bullshit and that rubbing the back of my hand ain’t gonna get them dick. He needed her to get me into Juvie or at least a psych evaluation center, but the doc wasn’t doing what she was supposed to.
He was getting antsy and almost barged into the room when someone stopped him. All I got was him saying “Yes, Chief” and cursing inwardly that Of course the Chief would agree with whatever his wife said. Then Chloe distracted me and I was glad because the cop wasn’t the nicest of men and when he got angry he said some pretty nasty things.
I pulled my mind from my memories and sighed as I parked and headed inside. Storm kept a ground floor office with an open-door policy for the kids. Being an Immortal, he didn’t need to do the kind of outreach work he did, so admiring Storm for his charity work was easy.
Admiring Storm himself was even easier. Easy in the blonde, blue-eyed, Greek deity kind of way that made me pretty certain Storm was a god in disguise and just didn’t want to tell us which one. Not that it was weird crushing on a guy who was hundreds
of years old.
Today his door was open as usual, and I walked right in, through the empty front room and into the inner office to find the Immortal typing diligently on his laptop.
“Hello, Melisande, is everything alright?” He frowned, studying my face as if he could find the answer on the contours of my bone structure.
I shook my head. “No. I’ve just come from seeing Samuel and I’m worried.” I gave him a quick rundown of what happened at Samuel’s but mentioned nothing about the girl. Again, I just felt that bit of information was too unusual, and instinct told me it wasn’t something I was meant to go telling all and sundry, even if they happened to be Immortal.
Storm rubbed his jaw, the short bristles making a soft ticking sound. “What could he have meant by ‘I’m not done yet’?” he asked, more to himself than anything.
“Do you think he’s somewhere on some kind of mission that he hasn’t told us about? Something that has to do with astral-projection?” I asked. It sounded like the most plausible option, but then I frowned. “But I didn’t even know Samuel could astral-project. Do you know if he could?”
Storm shook his head, his expression shuttered. “No, but physical and mental projection are not that far apart, as far as abilities are concerned. Most high-level jumpers could—in theory—learn to astral-project if they wanted to. The other way around is slightly harder, but not impossible.”
“But if he is projecting his mind, then why? And where is he? And is there some way we can help him?” I sat forward on the chair, eager to hear what Storm had to say, yet wondering why he seemed to suddenly close off from me.
“Melisande, Samuel must have a good reason to do what he is doing,” said Storm, leaning toward me, his voice lowered. I knew what he was doing. He was trying to calm me down. I didn’t need calm. Answers and action. That’s what I needed. In fact, I didn’t need any of this right now. At this moment I had to get on with finding the Cross girl. Storm continued, oblivious to my internal upheaval. “Wherever he is, he just reassured you he is fine. If he needed your help, he would have told you so. Just leave him to do what he has to.”