Paranormal Talent Agency Episodes 4-6

by Heather Silvio

  Was it possible that because I’d hidden it for years and then had it bound for years that it was distorted? That terrified me. What if my magic malfunctioned once we stopped Barbara and unbound it? I bounced my leg as I considered the alternatives. On the other hand, maybe the magic couldn’t be read correctly while bound and it’d be fine after? Man, I hoped so. I’d have to be patient until Jessica did her research into breaking the pact with Barbara.

  “Earth to Robin.” Catherine waved a hand in front of my face and I blinked.

  “Sorry, I was thinking.”

  “That much was obvious,” Evie laughed.

  “What’s our next step?” I looked around the table after asking the question.

  “I’m working on set tomorrow and I want Robin glued to my side.”

  I bit my lower lip at Jackson’s statement and Mia grinned. I might be a great liar generally, but I sure wasn’t hiding my… affection… for Jackson very well.

  “That’s a good idea from more than a protection standpoint,” Catherine concurred. “Since both of you are targets, this gives the replacement killer something to target. When the killer makes his or her move, hopefully we’ll get more information on their identity. And, more importantly, how to stop them.”

  Blood drained from my face. Awesome, let’s make us targets. Or to be more accurate, we were officially bait.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “I really don’t think it’s necessary to stay at your house,” I argued with Jackson. He had followed me back to my home and we were standing in the kitchen.

  “I thought you agreed you’d stay with me.”

  Oh, but I wanted to! “During the day, when we’re out and about,” I said instead, continuing to argue, but with little insistence.

  “I’d stay here,” he offered, “but we’d have to go get my equipment from my house for the shoot tomorrow. Plus, Buster would have to stay here too.”

  “Buster?”

  “Didn’t I mention him? He’s my pittie mix.”

  “No, you didn’t. I love dogs!”

  “See,” he said with an arched eyebrow, “it’s just more logical to stay at my place. Wouldn’t you feel bad if we left poor Buster on his own?”

  I rolled my eyes. He had to know logic wasn’t the issue. The thought of staying at Jackson’s home… what would be the sleeping arrangements?

  As though reading my mind, he wolfishly smiled. “I have a guest bedroom, if that’s the concern.”

  I flushed and rocked back on my heels. “Um. Cool,” I stammered. “That’s good.”

  Jackson brushed his knuckles against my jawline, sending waves of pleasure through me. “If anything happened to you overnight, I’d never forgive myself.”

  The desire in his eyes brought my confusion to the surface. This couldn’t be his protection magic. Could it?

  “Pack for tonight and tomorrow. Please.”

  I melted a little at his tone, hearing the genuine worry underneath. “Okay,” I relented. “Let me throw stuff in a bag and we can get going.”

  “Excellent! This’ll be fun. Like a sleepover.”

  I choked on a laugh. “A sleepover?”

  “Got you to laugh, didn’t it?”

  We smiled goofily at each other. My smile dropped. “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “For just being there. For being you.”

  “I’m glad I could be. For you.”

  I couldn’t believe we’d only met two days ago. I squeezed his upper arm, distracted for a moment by the rock-hard muscle underneath. Focus! “Give me a sec.”

  I dashed into the bedroom and flung open my closet door. I pulled out two long-sleeve t-shirts, another pair of jeans, and some undergarments. Sexy or plain? The question flashed in my mind. I shook my head and selected cotton undies. This wasn’t a romantic getaway. He was protecting me from a demon who wanted us dead. I needed to remember that. My hand grabbed an extra set of lacy underthings. You know, just in case. I rolled my eyes at myself.

  After grabbing toiletries from the bathroom, I stood again before Jackson. “Ready,” I announced needlessly.

  He reached to slide the overnight bag off my arm. “I’ve got this.”

  “Such a gentleman, thank you,” I murmured.

  He winked in reply.

  I checked out his delicious backside for a moment before locking up my house and turning to follow him.

  He stowed my bag behind the front passenger seat and fired up the truck. I saw his continual scanning for danger as he backed out of the driveway and began the short drive to his home.

  “When did you realize you were a witch? Or should I be quiet so you can concentrate? You know, on sensing the danger.”

  Jackson chuckled. “Now that I’m on alert, I can sense energy changes just fine while we chat.” He fiddled with the heater, and I wondered if he didn’t want to talk about his paranormal history. “My parents knew I was a witch before I did.”

  “Wow, really? How?”

  “My father is a witch, and the abilities pass on the father’s side in my family, so he knew what to watch for. There are signs.”

  Would things have been different if I’d had that? I refused to start down that path, so I refocused on Jackson. “What kind of signs?”

  “Mostly he watched for energy changes around me. Just like I can sense energy changes that signal the presence of magic, so can my Dad. He trained me to control my magic once it manifested at puberty.”

  “That’s so cool.” And I genuinely felt that way, though the roiling in my stomach confirmed some mixed feelings. “Where are your parents now?”

  “They are traveling the world and very happy.”

  I could hear the smile in his voice as I stared out the windshield. How I wished I could have had that. Neither of my parents had been witches; they didn’t know to watch for what had been happening to me.

  “Everything okay?” Jackson asked.

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Something seems off.”

  “Do you sense energy changes like before? Is this killer nearby?” We were passing the flashing sign announcing the sprawling Red Rock Casino complex headed toward the overpass for the 215 West Beltway. There were a fair number of cars, and lots of people in the buildings. Could he sense something from that distance? Or was he sensing my bound magic?

  My peripheral vision caught his slight frown. “Not exactly.”

  “Not exactly?”

  “It’s not an exact science,” he explained, and I heard the smile again in his voice, breaking the tension.

  “My parents died just after my sixteenth birthday,” I blurted out.

  “Oh, Robin, I’m so sorry. That must have been tough,” Jackson responded, reaching over to place his hand on my knee.

  “It was. They died in a car accident. I was in foster care until I turned eighteen and aged out of the system.” I glanced at Jackson. Relief flooded me when I saw sadness and not pity in his eyes. I hated people pitying me.

  “When I talk about my happy life with my parents, that hurts,” he surmised, surprising me.

  “That sounds horrible when I hear it out loud, but yeah,” I admitted.

  “It’s not horrible,” he disagreed. “You’re just being honest.”

  I shrugged. “Hmm.” I feigned nonchalance, but my emotions churned. Jackson was attractive, thoughtful, sweet… perfect. I sighed.

  “What’s the sigh for?”

  “You are entirely too perceptive and frank,” I answered with a laugh, sidestepping the question.

  Jackson echoed my laughter and turned the truck off of West Charleston Blvd onto a side street. I missed the sign, so didn’t know quite where we were, but even in the dark, I could see this was one of the newer communities of cookie-cutter homes.

  “I know they all look the same,” Jackson said while maneuvering around a bend.

  “You need to stop doing that.”


  “Doing what?”

  “Reading my mind.”

  He grinned. “I don’t have to read your mind. Many people have commented on the sameness of the beige stucco houses so close together.” He parked in the driveway of a two-story version of precisely that. “And, yes, I can touch my wall and my neighbor’s with just my arms outstretched.”

  I laughed.

  “But that misses why people live out here,” he continued.

  “Why?”

  “Easy access to Red Rock Canyon.”

  We opened our doors and exited the truck. “I could see how that would be a plus,” I conceded. I pulled my bag from behind the seat and slammed the door closed.

  Jackson slid my bag back off my shoulder like before. “I got that,” he said and headed toward his door.

  No point in arguing, so I followed him, noting the typical desert landscaping. “Nice cactus,” I commented. He looked over his shoulder and I pointed to the massive cactus in the middle of his tiny yard. “It’s taller than me.”

  “Indeed, it is. Beautiful flowers bloom on there, sometimes.”

  I turned my back to Jackson while he unlocked his door. All the houses around his were dark. Was everybody out or already asleep?

  “Welcome to my humble abode,” Jackson warmly welcomed me. The sound of claws on tile reached me and a muscular black dog flew across the room to greet me and his master. I crouched to accept the slobbery kisses. Jackson flipped the overhead lights on as I stood. While I took in the space, he rubbed the exposed belly of Buster, who had flopped over in front of him. I grinned before checking out the open floor plan that allowed me to see his living room, dining area, and kitchen all in one swoop. Pretty standard furniture. One feature stood out.

  “Those posters are amazing.”

  “They are my favorite possessions; well, besides my camera equipment.”

  I walked the perimeter of his first floor, stopping to consider each framed movie poster. Many of them were even signed! I stopped in front of one and chuckled. Jackson stood beside me. His warmth heated that side of my body.

  “Not the best movie ever made,” he agreed with my silent appraisal, “but Sleepwalkers is a classic bad movie by a master writer.”

  “Stephen King has contributed some of the worst films to celluloid, no doubt.” I peered closer at the poster. “But, that’s not his signature.”

  “Nope. Funny story. I was buying that poster at the San Diego Comic Con years ago—” He gave me the side-eye. “—yes, I go to Comic Cons.”

  I held up my hands with a laugh. “No judgment here. I love conventions,” I enthused. “So, you were buying the poster—” I prompted.

  “I was buying the poster and this guy standing next to me says, hey, I was on that set.”

  “No way!”

  “Way!” We smiled at each other. “I asked him all about it and it turned out he was one of the camera guys. Of course, I asked him to sign the poster.”

  “Of course.”

  We continued to circle the room, ending up in the kitchen, which was nicely updated with stainless steel appliances and charcoal quartz countertops. Posh and manly. “Would you like a drink?”

  “Water would be great. Since you bought this house to be close to Red Rock Canyon, how often do you hike?”

  “Nearly every day I’m not working,” he answered, his back to me while he poured a glass of water from a Brita pitcher. “Buster loves it.” Hearing his name, the pup jumped from the couch and joined us in the kitchen area.

  “He’s adorable.”

  “And doesn’t he know it.” He leaned down to scratch Buster’s head.

  “Was he a rescue?”

  “Not quite.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “He’s my familiar.” Jackson took a sip of water, making eye contact over the top of the glass. “Do you know what that is?”

  “I do. They’re a witch’s companion animal.”

  “Yep. He showed up when I hit puberty. And he’ll be with me for as long as I’m a witch.”

  “I thought they were always cats,” I joked, to cover the sudden tightness in my chest.

  “Nope, not always cats.”

  “I had a cat as a child,” I blurted impulsively. “Patches ran away after my parents’ accident.”

  “I’m sorry, Robin.” He reached for my hand.

  My gaze dropped to his hand on mine. If a witch loses her familiar when she’s no longer a witch… I pulled my hand free to grasp my glass, and raised my head.

  “I’ve always wanted to adopt another one. The timing never seemed right.” College student on campus. Homeless. Demon’s minion. Yeah, the timing had never been right. I snorted.

  “What’s that about?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing. But one day I plan to adopt a cat.”

  “We’ll have to do a playdate once you adopt,” Jackson joked.

  I quirked an eyebrow. “We will?”

  “We’ll want to make sure our animals get along, right?”

  “Um. Yes?”

  Jackson laughed his low and sexy laugh. “I’m just teasing you, Robin. You turn a delightful shade of red when you’re embarrassed.”

  A flush crept up my neck. “Gee, thanks.”

  Jackson came around the island and engulfed me in a bear hug.

  I held my breath a moment before relaxing into his embrace. He smelled nice, clean. I rested my head on his chest.

  “Everything will be okay.”

  “You promise?” My voice trembled with the question.

  “If I have anything to say about it, I will do everything in my power to protect you.”

  Protect me. Yeah. I disengaged from the hug and stared up at him. “We should go to bed.”

  My flush deepened when he waggled his eyebrows at me. I pushed against his solid wall of a chest.

  “You know what I mean,” I protested.

  Jackson leaned in and whispered in my ear. “Yes, I do.”

  I closed my eyes briefly at the wave of anticipation before taking a step back. “You have work in the morning,” I reminded him.

  “Follow me,” he responded with another chuckle, grabbing my overnight bag off the couch. We walked up a flight of carpeted stairs and down a short tiled hallway.

  “This is the guest bedroom.” A queen-size bed and a single chest of drawers, all in a deep cherry wood, filled the space.

  “It looks lovely, thanks.”

  “There’s an attached bathroom, and I’ll be just down the hall if you need anything.”

  I swallowed. “Um, okay.”

  Jackson twirled a strand of my hair in his fingers. “Don’t hesitate to ask.”

  I folded my hand over his. “I won’t.”

  Pleasure thrummed through me until he pulled back. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  Right. The protection magic. “Goodnight, Jackson.”

  He stepped out of the room, pausing in the doorway. “Goodnight, Robin. I’ll wake you up at 8, okay?”

  “Sounds good.”

  He closed the door soundlessly behind him. Carpet muffled his steps as he walked to his bedroom down the hall. I swallowed again.

  I unpacked my few belongings and got cleaned up in the bathroom. Snuggling under the down comforter, perfect for Vegas in December, I sighed.

  Was Jackson sending mixed signals or was I misreading? Protection magic was very confusing.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Jackson’s guest bedroom mattress begged me to stay in it, so I snuggled further under the covers. I thought I heard movement downstairs and sighed. It must be time to get up. The sound drew closer and I smiled when I recognized claws on tile. Soon, an 80-pound dog jumped onto the bed and gave me morning kisses.

  “Hey, Buster, good morning to you, too.” I scratched him behind his ear and was rewarded with a thumping leg against the bed. “You like that, don’t you, big guy?” Buster’s head ros
e and he sniffed the air. A second later, I too smelled the scent of bacon wafting up the stairs. Mmm, was Jackson making breakfast?

  I looked down at my pajamas, debating whether to change. Friends don’t have to get cleaned up for breakfast, I decided, and headed downstairs toward the delicious smells.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” Jackson greeted me with a smile.

  A hand went to my hair; how bad was my bed head this morning?

  He chuckled. “You look fine. Like you just woke up. Did Buster wake you?”

  “Yes, but it’s not a bad way to start the day.”

  “Hungry?”

  “Very.” I approached him, standing in front of the stove. “That looks yummy.”

  He flipped the omelet with a spatula in one hand and the bacon with a second spatula in the other.

  “Impressive.”

  “I got skills.”

  “Indeed.” My heart sped up at the double entendre in our exchange.

  “How did you sleep?”

  “Like the dead,” I responded before wincing. Maybe not the best analogy when people were trying to kill you.

  Jackson belly-laughed. “Perfect.” He pointed toward an overhead cupboard to my right. “If you want to grab a couple of plates—” He pointed to a drawer below. “—and silverware, breakfast will be ready in a few minutes.”

  “How did you time this so perfectly?” I asked, marveling at the coordination.

  He grinned. “I didn’t. I planned to wake you up if Buster or the smell didn’t,” he admitted and I laughed.

  “That would have worked, too.”

  After serving up the food, we sat at his dining room table to eat, Buster splayed on the floor, watching hopefully for a piece of bacon to drop.

  “This is beautiful,” I expressed, running my fingers over the light-ash distressed wood.

  “Thank you,” he murmured, though I didn’t miss how his eyes watched my hand move along the top of the table.

  I snatched my hand back and his lips quivered like he was biting back a smile. “What’s the plan for today?”

  “We were going to be filming in the Bellagio atrium,” he started.

  “The botanical gardens, where they decorate for the season?” I interrupted. “I love seeing what they’ve done with the flowers!”