Paranormal Talent Agency Episodes 4-6

by Heather Silvio

  You weren’t on the bus either.

  I wondered what Mark’s response to my text would be. I listened to Elizabeth’s continued coverage while I waited.

  The brunette broadcaster put a hand to her ear, probably trying to isolate a voice coming through her earpiece. “I’ve just been informed that the Sheriff has arrived on scene.” Elizabeth nodded at the camera and then turned to sprint toward the accident. The image returned to an anchor in-studio and I muted the broadcast again. I’d wait until they had more information. My mind was spinning with what I’d already learned.

  A bus crashed that I was supposed to be on. A bus crash that my premonition saved me from.

  Why?

  Mark Mammon also wasn’t on the bus.

  The camera returned to Elizabeth standing next to the tall, gray-haired Sheriff. His city had seen some rough stuff since he won election. He looked at least a decade older than he had when he’d taken office. Such were the perils of power.

  I unmuted the broadcast.

  “What can you tell us?”

  “The last body has been pulled from the wreckage. At this time, I can confirm three of the five candidates—”

  “Which candidates?” Elizabeth interrupted, but given Mark’s text, I knew.

  “—along with three staff members,” the Sheriff continued without acknowledging her question, “and the bus driver, have been killed.”

  “What happened?”

  “The cause of the accident is unknown, though witnesses report the bus did not seem to slow as it crested Desert Inn toward the Las Vegas Boulevard traffic light.”

  “Does the department believe this was a terrorist attack?”

  “We have no reason to believe that at this time,” the Sheriff concluded, smiled tightly at viewers, and turned to hurry away from the reporter.

  I doubted it was a terrorist attack either. I also doubted it was just an accident.

  My limo had nearly arrived at the intersection of the accident when Mark responded.

  And then there were two.

  I chuckled at the audacity. I guessed that confirmed what Elizabeth had reported. He and I were the only candidates remaining. Seemed only fitting, since we were the two paranormal beings. Both demons, in fact. I thinned my lips in thought. This begged two very important questions.

  It seemed unlikely, but did Mark not know I was a demon?

  And, I had my premonition warning me away from the bus; how did Mark know not to board the bus?

  CHAPTER THREE

  The slowing of the limo and the sound of the divider lowering pulled me from my thoughts. I made eye contact with the driver in the rearview mirror.

  “Ma’am, we’ve arrived.”

  He didn’t have to specify where. The lights from emergency vehicles pierced the limo’s window tint, and controlled chaos ruled the scene.

  “Good luck,” Lynn offered.

  I paused in opening my door. Sarcastic or sincere? Maybe I could play nice for a bit until I figured out what was going on. I smiled wide at her. “Thank you.” I exited the vehicle and took in the scene before me.

  Controlled chaos was definitely an accurate description. I counted five ambulances. No, wait, six. Three firetrucks and five police vehicles scattered around the debate bus, indeed lying on its side, front end crumpled. I spotted Elizabeth and her cameraman, still shooting live coverage, and headed in her direction.

  Elizabeth’s eyes lit up when she saw me. She recognized a scoop when she saw it. “Councilwoman, why weren’t you on the bus?” Her shouted question reached me.

  I did not respond. Yelling across the space between us wasn’t dignified. And I was the head of the city council after all.

  She wisely did not repeat her question and simply watched me approach.

  “Good evening, Ms. Addison. I’m happy to answer any questions that you have.”

  “Why weren’t you on the bus?”

  “A last-minute change of plans resulted in my choosing to drive myself to the debate.”

  “Well, technically, you have a limo.”

  A pulse throbbed in my neck. “Yes, you are correct. What I meant to say was that my campaign arranged private transportation when it was decided I wouldn’t be taking the bus.”

  “And what were these last-minute plans that kept you from the bus?”

  Like a dog with a bone. “Confidential campaign activities.”

  “That’s convenient.”

  “Are you insinuating that I had anything to do with this crash, Ms. Addison?”

  She winced at my sharp tone and her cheeks flushed. She knew I called her bluff. “Of course not. I’m only asking what my viewers will be wondering. How did you know not to get on the bus?”

  I paused as if collecting my thoughts. I wasn’t about to mention I had a premonition, but I needed to nip this in the bud. “I had no advance knowledge that anything was going to happen to the bus. Of course, I didn’t. There was no nefarious reason I wasn’t on board. I am as shocked and devastated as the rest of Las Vegas at this senseless accident and loss of life.”

  “Maybe not quite as devastated, though, right?”

  I remained silent, hyper-aware of the camera likely zoomed in on my face, waiting for any micro-reaction.

  “After all, now there are only two candidates for your position,” she finished triumphantly.

  I allowed a half-smile to surface. “Ms. Addison, I have every confidence that I will win this election. Neither myself, nor Mark Mammon, who also was not on the bus tonight, wanted the race to be reduced through such means.”

  I saw the internal calculations play out across Elizabeth’s face. The Sheriff hadn’t told her who the other surviving candidate was. Like me, she was considering what Mark might know or not know about the bus crash.

  “My thoughts and prayers go out to the victims of tonight’s crash, as well as their friends and family. Thank you.” With that, I walked away. Elizabeth shouted something, her words lost on the wind that picked that moment to blow harsher. I hurried to the limo. The door tried to slip from my grasp but I was able to hold it open long enough to slip inside.

  “Are you okay?”

  The broadcast continued on the screen behind her and I assumed she watched my interview. It could have been better. It could have been worse. I shrugged. “I’m fine.” I lowered the partition. “Please bring me to my office.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I raised the partition and faced Lynn. “I’ll head to work for a bit, in case there’s anything requiring my immediate attention. We should assume for now that the next week will involve minimal continued campaigning.”

  Lynn nodded and whipped out her cellphone. I turned my attention inward as her fingers flew across the device, probably alerting anybody who needed to know that I would be laying low for the time being. I was savvy enough to understand I didn’t want it to appear I was taking advantage of the tragedy. Although, Mark was correct.

  Only two candidates remained.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I drummed my fingernails on my solid wood monstrosity of a desk. In between providing soundbites to other members of the media concerning the tragedy, I reviewed the papers scattered across the surface of the desk. Once the final candidates had filed their paperwork, I’d hired a private investigator to dig up everything they could on the other four. The actor had been the biggest obvious threat. The two nobodies were exactly that. I set aside their dossiers and opened the one remaining.

  Mark Mammon. I’d hired a supernatural private investigator because I’d assumed at least one of the other candidates would be supernatural. I’d been right. The investigator had struggled to follow the leads on Mr. Mammon. I wasn’t surprised once the preliminary information came in; he was a demon like me and we weren’t exactly known for wanting to share that.

  Mark was older than my 500 years, but the trail of personas ran cold at about 750 years. He could be 1000 years o
ld, for all I knew. That was worrisome because he may or may not be stronger as a result. I placed his picture on top of the pile.

  Devilishly handsome man. I chuckled at my wit. Thick black hair, depthless black eyes that pulled at you. High cheekbones and a strong chin rounded out his striking features. Could be Greek or Roman, with that profile.

  I laughed aloud when I considered his name. The name Mark meant God of War. And Mammon was a higher-level demon who evoked greed and deceit. So, a greedy demon starting war. Someone like that might crash a debate bus. Someone like that most certainly could want to rule the supernatural underworld.

  Here I pursed my lips in thought. Although a large region, Las Vegas wasn’t the biggest region to rule. Why was Mark here, trying to snatch my rule from me? Wouldn’t he want to go after New York City, or one of the bigger regions in Europe maybe? I gnashed my teeth in frustration. What was his end game?

  My cellphone rang. I frowned at it for a moment before answering. “Barbara Knollman speaking.”

  “Ms. Knollman, this is Detective Jacob Dawson, with the Las Vegas Police Department.”

  I rolled my eyes; I was well aware of the owner of the gruff voice. Although just a human, he was involved with Mia Fynn, a fellow supernatural allied with the Paranormal Talent Agency. “What can I do for you, Detective?”

  “I’d like to schedule a time to speak with you regarding the bus crash that occurred earlier tonight.”

  No preamble. He probably saw my interview with Elizabeth. I wasn’t keen on being interviewed by him, but perhaps I could gain my own knowledge. While I knew I had nothing to do with the accident, it was very likely someone, maybe Mark, was involved. Perhaps I could pull some of that information from the detective.

  “Ma’am? Are you there?”

  “Sorry, I was reviewing my schedule in my head.” The lie rolled easily off my tongue. “How about tomorrow at 9? Would you like me to come to the station?” I offered only to appear agreeable. He and I both knew I wouldn’t be coming down to the station.

  “That’s not necessary, ma’am. I’ll come to you. Thank you.”

  “You’re most welcome, Detective. I’ll see you in the morning.” I ended the call and leaned back in the overstuffed dark leather chair. Now this was a comfortable chair. Why couldn’t I have gotten one like this for at least my campaign headquarters office?

  I turned my attention back to the dossier for Mark Mammon, although there was little left to review. The list of names he’d used, going back 750 years. Interestingly, he almost always used a variant of Mark – such as Marc, Markus, Marcus – and a surname with a deeper meaning. Maybe my demon competitor possessed unknown depths?

  I laughed and my eyes burned. If anyone had been in the room, they would have seen the unearthly red glow emanating from them. I didn’t actually care whether or not Mark had depth. I needed to find out if he caused the bus crash and if he’d really been so insolent as to have tried to kill me.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  My dark house beckoned. I maneuvered the Cadillac Escalade – black of course – onto the driveway of my two-story abode. I lived in the Las Vegas Country Club Estates, not because I cared about being on a golf course, but because of the implied prestige and the wheeling-and-dealing I’d done on the course before. Appearances were important. Thus, I lived in a 4000 square foot McMansion. Normally this didn’t bother me; it was a necessary evil. Tonight, something niggled.

  Was it because of my faulty precognitions? Maybe that had me more off-kilter than I thought.

  The coldness and impersonality of the muted grays and gleaming metal interior of my house bothered me tonight too. I hurried through the entryway from the garage, ignoring the soaring 30-foot ceilings and open floorplan, eager to get to my bedroom. My heels click-clacked on the marble floors, quieting when I started up the carpeted stairway.

  I peeled off my red power-suit, more of an 80s look, I supposed, but still striking.

  What should be my next steps? I always had a plan. And Plans B, C, and D, to be honest. I was always prepared and ready with a backup. That’s how I attained and maintained my position for so many years.

  I’d never had a problem with my precognition before. That niggling sensation returned. Could it be that my precognition wasn’t on the fritz? Could it be I’d been misinterpreting? I stood frozen in my walk-in closet as the enormity of that question hit. No, that couldn’t be it.

  Mist swirled before me and I sat on the carpet to accept the incoming premonition. A person appeared in the haze. A man, I thought. The vision moved closer; yes, it was the back of a man. Dark hair. Black or brown, I wasn’t sure. The image stilled and emotions threatened to overwhelm me. Love, hate, power, and betrayal.

  “Show me his face,” I demanded of the premonition. “Give me more to go on,” I insisted. Premonitions didn’t work like that and the image stubbornly refused to move. It continued to show the back of this unknown man with dark hair.

  Then my premonition did move, though my excitement was short-lived. Instead of showing me something useful about the man, the image shifted to show a female I knew. Her bright blue eyes flashed in a pale face surrounded by waves of blue hair. The importance of her struck like a physical assault. The image faded and I lay back on the carpet. I stared at the ceiling and considered what I’d received.

  I hadn’t been given enough to guess the identity of the man in the vision. The second image gave more information. Olivia Williams.

  This wasn’t the first time this supernatural being had appeared in one of my premonitions. I had dealt with the Paranormal Talent Agency last year when Evie’s idiot vampire sire surfaced in Vegas, as a Family Cleaner, no less. He’d been hired to clean Olivia, but luckily, he’d screwed up. She’d already gone underground in New Mexico, if I remembered correctly. My premonition then had been very clear – she needed to remain alive. She was important.

  And, now here she was again. Though I wasn’t any closer to figuring out her importance. I groaned and returned to the first, more perplexing, image.

  A man. With brown or black hair. Eliciting love, hate, power, and betrayal. Irritation spiked through me and I clenched my fists.

  With a groan, I relaxed my fists, sat up, and contemplated further.

  Who did I know with dark hair? An image of Mark Mammon popped up, smirk in place. Hmm. Hate would not be unexpected connected to him. Power, certainly, as a competitor. Even possibly betrayal, if he was the one who killed the other candidates.

  But love? That made no sense that I could understand.

  I’d let the premonition percolate a bit and wait to see what information I could glean from the detective tomorrow.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jacob Dawson sat opposite me in my office, blue eyes indecipherable. He held a small notebook in one hand and a disposable pen in the other. Ready to take down the pearls of wisdom I’d soon be offering. I bit back a chortle. He leaned forward, maroon button-down dress shirt straining against his shoulders.

  “Please, Detective, ask your questions. I have nothing to hide,” I volunteered, and his eyebrows rose in surprise.

  “Thank you, Councilwoman—”

  “Please, call me Barbara,” I interrupted, a smile splitting my face. He shuddered and I remembered that my teeth weren’t aging well in this body; apparently, they were small and sharp-looking. I brought it down a notch, smiling without showing teeth. Jacob relaxed.

  “Barbara,” he complied. “Thank you for agreeing to answer my questions.”

  “Of course, anything to help the investigation.”

  “Let’s start with your decision not to take the bus to the debate.”

  “That was a last-minute decision,” I began, the explanation already sounding rehearsed. The drawback to having repeated the story so many times to members of the press the previous night. He scribbled, mouth pulled down in a frown, while I unspooled the story of needing extra time at campaign headquarters before the debat
e. I rather magnanimously had not wanted to delay the entire show by holding up the bus until I was ready.

  “Do you know why Mark Mammon didn’t take the bus either?”

  “I do not.”

  “Have you spoken with Mr. Mammon since the accident?”

  “I have not.”

  “Let me rephrase. Have you been in contact with Mr. Mammon at all since the accident?”

  Now it was my turn with the eyebrow raise. “You’ve already spoken with Mr. Mammon.”

  “This morning,” Jacob confirmed.

  “I apologize for the inaccuracy. While it is true I did not speak with him, we exchanged several texts.”

  “May I see those texts?”

  I hesitated for only a moment, but Jacob didn’t miss the hesitation. His expression hardened. He expected me to lie. I smoothed out my own expression. “Of course.” My cellphone sat on the desk before me. I unlocked the screen, clicked on the text icon, and slid the phone toward the detective. “The exchange is at the top.”

  Jacob scrolled through the minimal texts, seeming satisfied. While the texts were terse, and somewhat odd perhaps, there was nothing there suggesting my involvement. Or Mark’s, I realized.

  “Are you at liberty to tell me what happened?” I asked.

  “Normally I wouldn’t, but I understand you have sources.”

  I smirked. He knew I could pick up the phone the instant he turned in any kind of a report and have the full information. I only asked to save myself the hassle.

  “The accident was no accident,” he said slowly, watching for my reaction.

  “What makes you believe that?”

  “There was no evidence the driver tried to brake.”

  “He could have fallen asleep,” I offered an alternative explanation.

  “He could have. Except a last text came from one of the occupants, stating concern about the driver.”