by Sharon Joss
Hel-lo handsome. “Call me Mattie. I think I’ve seen you work out at my gym. Midtown? So nice to meet you.” I gave him my best smile. His eyes were hypnotic.
He smiled and snapped open our napkins and laid one on each of our laps. His muscular hand brushed my thigh, and my skin hummed. Heat rushed to my face.
“I’ll send your waiter right over.” He bowed again and left us.
“Karen, that’s the guy.” I grabbed her elbow. “The one I told you about. My potential future boyfriend.”
“You said you were giving up on men altogether. As I recall, you said there were no good men left on the planet, remember?”
“You’re right, I’m giving up on men. I mean it. But man-oh-Manischewitz, I may have spoken in haste.” Garr greeted a couple at the door and escorted them to a nearby table.
“I admit Garr is a first-class hunk of beefcake, but he’s old enough to be your father.”
“Ooh, you’re just being mean.” I stuck my tongue out at her. “You said Russ. You mean as in Mad Otto’s son?”
Mad Otto earned his nickname during prohibition, and added to his family fortune by supplying bootleg whiskey and gin to speakeasies all over the northeast. Mad Otto’s reputation for ruthlessness and dangerous associates had always kept local law enforcement at a distance. These days, rumors hinted at his dementia and need for round-the-clock nursing care.
“Yes, Garr is Mad Otto’s one and only. Garr took over the restaurant a few years ago. When Otto passes on, Garr is set for life.” Karen raised her eyebrow. “And he is available. Not that you’re interested, I’m sure.”
“Of course not. I’m just curious. How do you know so much?”
“Martin and Garr are old friends and business associates. They play tennis together, and we come here for dinner all the time. Their spinach salads are the best.”
“Maybe I should come here more often.”
“This is probably the last time we’ll eat here. Martin says the place is closing next month.”
“Why? The Sand Castle has been here forever.”
“It’s going to be torn down to make way for the new marina.”
“What a shame. I guess the restaurant business isn’t what it used to be. By the way, I drove by Mystic Properties on my way over, but it was closed.”
“Just call and make an appointment. Sonja says the mage is a spelunker. Is that fascinating or what?”
I rolled my eyes. “Alright, speak English. What the heck is a spelunker?”
“He explores caves.”
I made a face. “Not my idea of a good time.” I gazed longingly at Garr, as he chatted up a party seated at another table. “I like tennis, though. I do like a man with big hands.”
Karen snorted. “Forget the hands, it’s the shoe size that matters. I still can’t believe you stayed with that loser Kip for as long as you did. You probably should stop dating.”
“Are you going to make rude comments about my love life or tell me what you found?”
Karen handed me a stack of copies. “Take a look at this.”
“Why can’t you just tell me? The sooner I get my strange little problem taken care of, the sooner I can resume my normal um, social activities.” I admired how well Garr’s shoulders filled out his suit jacket; I’d bet money the suit was custom tailored.
“Okay, but pay attention.” She put on her glasses and patted the pile of paper sitting in front of me.
“The top article talks about spirit guides, and says you don’t need to be from an indigenous culture to encounter them, and they’re always present in our sub-consciousness. You don’t even have to believe in them to experience them. Sound familiar? And look, here it says clairvoyants are most likely to come in contact with them.”
I nodded and finished skimming the article. “Oh, it says here they can be both animal and spirit.” What a relief. I glanced over and smiled at my gaggle of spirit guides, but they did not respond. “I’ll bet somewhere in that stack of copies you have information on what each animal means.”
“Ta da!” She handed me several more pages, as our waiter arrived with our coffee. We both ordered the house spinach salads with dressing on the side. I waited until he was out of earshot.
“Give me the short version,” I said. “What do these things mean?”
“The lizard is about dreams and keeping an extra careful eye on the people around you. The cat means you’re in a period of magic and mystery. The toad says you’re going through some personal changes, and right now is a good time for solitude.”
“And?”
“Don’t you get it? It’s perfect. You’re discovering your extrasensory abilities. Wouldn’t you agree that’s magical and mysterious?”
“Okay, I’m with you there. How does this help me get rid of them? I can barely breathe. My food tastes like you-don’t-want-to-know. Every time another one shows up, it scares me half to death. After the fifth one popped up this morning, things are getting kind of crowded in Mattie-land.”
Her eyes opened wide. “Five? Are you kidding? When did this happen?”
“When I woke up this morning, there was a disgusting rat-thing sitting next to the others at the foot of my bed. The snake creature showed up right after I talked to you this morning. They have the same skin and yellow eyes as my other three, but of the five, the toad and the rat are definitely the worst.” Between discreet hits off my dryer sheet and bites of spinach salad, I gave Karen the details about my morning visit from Agent Porter.
“This is getting complicated. I think the mage is our best bet to tell us what’s going on.”
I sighed. “I sure hope he’s as good as you say.”
“Listen to you. Yesterday you thought you had teratosis. Then you thought you were going nuts. Now you’ve gone beyond the explainable. You’re psychic. You have spirit guides. That’s huge progress, if you ask me. A lot of people in this are paranormal.”
“Name one.”
“Mayor Brunson is a registered psychic. It came up during the election last year. It’s perfectly respectable, practically mainstream.”
I sighed. “Okay, you win. I think I need a little time to get used to the idea, but yeah, I think you may be right. The only thing is, I’m not sure Agent Porter is going to understand about these spirit messengers. Would you come with me?”
Garr returned to our table. “May I offer you ladies some dessert? We have a selection of fine seasonal fruit sorbets, or a chocolate lava cake, if you prefer.” He spoke to me this time. I blushed.
“Just the check please, Garr.” Karen gave me an exaggerated eyebrow wiggle. I kicked her again.
I’ll send Dennis right over. A pleasure to meet you, Mattie. Enjoy your afternoon, ladies.” He winked at me as he left the table.
I smothered a gasp. “Did you see that?”
“When’s the last time you actually went on a date?”
My eyes followed him, helplessly. “When I didn’t have to pay? I don’t remember.”
“Speaking of dating, my cousin Ramona ran into your brother with Zoey Nussmeyer at Wegmans a couple of months ago.” She made a face.
I shook my head. “I don’t understand what’s gotten into him lately. He used to tell me everything, but now I get a feeling he’s hiding something from me. I had no idea he was dating Zoey. ”
“Well, not anymore.” She reached out and touched my arm. “Zoey’s dead.”
“What?”
“Don’t you ever listen to the news? She was one of the first Night Shark victims they found. The wounds were so horrific, they had to use DNA to identify her.”
I pushed away my salad. “Oh no.”
“It’s been in all the papers. All the victims have been from Shore Haven.”
“That can’t be. They found a body over in Picston yesterday.”
“Yeah. It was Joanne Reynolds.”
“The Sheriff’s wife? Oh my gosh, they live right down the street from Lance.”
Karen nodded. “Be careful
. Make sure you keep your doors locked. And you may not know this, but she had a registered demon.” She checked her watch. “I’ve got to get going. I wrote the mage’s phone number on the envelope.”
“Would you come with me? I know its short notice, but couldn’t you take the afternoon off?”
“Sorry, Adam has a doctor’s appointment at two. Just tell Agent Porter the truth. You’ll be fine.”
“Okay. I guess I’m still getting used to the idea. I don’t know what’s worse: the fact that I’m psychic or that you were right.” We both laughed.
“Don’t worry, Mattie. Everything is going to work out, your luck is about to change.”
“I hope so,” I said. “I want my life back.”
“Let me know what the mage says.”
I followed her out of the parking lot, and turned my car up the street toward the Thruway. I had a date with Agent Porter.
CHAPTER 10
After the pep talk from Karen, my mood was on the upswing, and by the time I took the downtown exit to Rochester, I was almost back to my sunny old self again. The spirit guide information Karen provided finally convinced me. So what if I’m psychic? I shrugged. As long as I can get rid of the stink, I can live with the rest. Not something to brag about, but nothing to worry about, either. No one at work need ever know. The tension eased from my shoulders.
Government scientists had been studying extrasensory perception for years. My test results would speak for themselves. The FBI were the experts; of course they would have the resources to solve my problem. The test would be the final confirmation I needed. Afterwards, I would let Agent Porter tell me how to get rid of my spirit messengers.
I skipped up the stairs of the FBI district office feeling pretty chipper, and gave my name to the receptionist. Forty-five minutes later, I sat in the soundproofed test room staring open-mouthed at Agent Porter. He wasn’t smiling.
“What do you mean I don’t have any psychic abilities? Of course I do.” I hung onto my chair for dear life, every muscle tensed in rigid denial of Agent Porter and his stupid test results.
“That is not what your test results indicate, Ms. Blackman. Your scores fall clearly outside the parameters of what the United States government defines as psychic ability. In fact, you registered significantly less intuitive ability than average. I cannot recall any other applicants who scored this low on the evaluations.”
“This is a mistake,” I said. “I told you, I’ve got five spirit messengers following me.”
The agent shook his head. “The tests don’t lie.” He began to put his equipment away, dismissing me.
“Give me another chance. I was probably just nervous.”
“I think we’re done here.”
I felt like a dying goldfish circling the bowl for the last time, as the vortex of flush sucked me down into nothingness and sewage. At this point, I had nothing left to lose.
“Wait. You said you had to investigate all reports of demons. Well I have demons. They’re sitting right here in this room with us. They smell so bad, I can hardly stand it. How can you just let this go?”
He froze, and for a second at least, I had his attention again.
“Are you now telling me you are in communication with evil spirits? Think very carefully before you answer, Ms. Blackman. Demons are more dangerous than loaded weapons. They are unsafe in anyone’s hands, and cannot ever be made safe. The temptation to use a summoned demon is irresistible. I am required by law to enforce a standing order of execution against anyone who is identified as a demon master. Are saying you summoned five demons, and they are awaiting your command?” His blue eyes drilled into me.
The blood drained from my face and I choked on my protest. I bit my lips shut.
“I thought not.” His jaw relaxed. He finished packing away the laptop and slipped my paperwork into his briefcase. The interview was over. I had been tested and found unworthy.
Hot tears stung my cheeks. “What am I supposed to do? How do I get rid of them? I could lose my job.”
Porter sighed and took a clean white handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and handed it to me. I buried my face into the soft cotton and sobbed. Porter didn’t say a word. After a few moments, I got a grip again, and blew my nose. I stared at the handkerchief in my hand and wished I’d thought to bring a dryer sheet.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Mattie,” he said. He was being gentle with me, I could tell. “Most people aren’t so disappointed. Perhaps you should talk to someone.”
“I’m not crazy.” The forms I’d filled out before he administered the tests had asked all kinds of questions about my family history of mental illness. I could just imagine what he was thinking. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Oh-kaaay.”
“What would you do if you were someone without any psychic ability, like me? I mean, if you were experiencing olfactory and visual hallucinations?”
“I’d consult with a psychiatric professional.”
I closed my eyes and shrank against the thought. I wondered how long the hospital stay would be, and how I would ever be able to face anyone I knew again. I remembered my mother’s drug-ravaged face and dismissed it. No. Not me, not now, not ever.
I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin. “You’re wrong about me,” my lips trembled.
His face softened. “Hey, for what it’s worth, the tests we use focus on a narrow aspect of paranormal sensitivities. The government is looking for people that fit a unique profile. Not everyone with extra-sensory abilities is identified by these evaluations.”
A spark of hope flared within me. I bit my lips.
“Let me tell you something, Mattie,” he sat on the edge of the desk. “We’re more alike you than you imagine. I haven’t got a shred of intuition, either. My test scores were almost as low as yours.”
“So how did you end up here?”
“It’s a long story. This is a temporary special assignment.” He couldn’t keep the chagrin out of his voice, and I wondered what he’d done to earn this duty. After six years working for the City, there was nothing worse than ‘special assignment’.
“This is a new program, and the bureau doesn’t employ many agents with psychic abilities. I contract with a local guy to help me identify and register true paranormals. He’s not always right, but he’s got some kind of inner radar that can spot them. And he’s not an intuitive either.”
“Maybe I’m like that too.” I handed Porter back his crumpled, wet handkerchief. “Who is he?”
“Rhys Warrick.”
CHAPTER 11
Rhys Warrick, Rhys Warrick, Rhys Warrick. The name echoed through my mind like a mantra. The Thruway wind blasted through the open windows, and battered against my numb face as I drove back to Shore Haven to pick up Mina. Until yesterday, I’d been certain Merle Shine held the solution to my problems. Today, I’d been absolutely confident the FBI would register me as a psychic. For Pete’s sake, if the Better Business Bureau and the Federal Bureau of Investigation can’t help me, what’s left? Everywhere I turned, doors slammed in my face. I didn’t know what to think anymore. All I ever wanted was a normal, respectable, predictable life, and now I found myself pinning my hopes on a certain prehistoric professor of ancient mysteries.
I arrived at Mina’s school a few minutes early, and checked out my puffy reflection in the mirror. Like a wall of ratty stuffed animals, my mute escort of yellow-eyed demons gaped at me from the backseat.
“Oh shut up,” I said. “I have had more than enough of all of you. You are totally pissing me off. This is all your fault.”
I thrust my face into the box of dryer sheets and in haled deeply. Nothing. I rubbed my temples and considered my alternatives. Okay, so I’m not psychic, and I’m not schizophrenic. The only remaining answer seemed to be supernatural. If Rhys Warrick could spot people with paranormal abilities, that would have to be good enough for me. The old guy had been around; Karen said he was a Rhodes scholar, professor, archeologist, and
theologian. A regular wise man. A helpful one, I hoped.
On a silent signal, kids started pouring out of school, and I honked and waved at nine-year-old Mina when she emerged. My mood lifted as she ran over to the car, her coppery-brown hair flying out behind her, grinning like an imp.
“Hey Mina, how’s my favorite niece?”
“You always say that,” she said, and gave me a big smoochie kiss on the cheek.
I’m always delighted by the sight of Lance’s freckles and blue eyes shining out at me from her mother’s heart-shaped face. Once she grew into her teeth, my niece Mina had all the makings of a real beauty.
“You up for a little adventure?”
She offered me a serious look. “Dad says homework first.” In his wilder days, Lance had gotten into trouble when he owed money to the wrong people and couldn’t pay. He had even been arrested once. But those days were behind him now, and every time I saw Mina, I understood why.
“Oh, it’s too hot to study. What you need is a visit to Abbot’s.”
“With sprinkles?”
I was putty in her hands. “Double sprinkles,” I promised. “I need to make one quick stop first.”
We cruised past Mystic Properties, but the place was still closed, so we picked up our frozen custard drove home.
#
After dinner, we set up the board to play Scrabble at the kitchen table. The doorbell rang, and I opened the door to find a hulk of a man standing on the front porch. His fellow goon waited behind him on the sidewalk, leaning up against a light blue Seville. They weren’t Boy Scouts, and they weren’t salesmen. They looked like trouble.
“Is Lance around?”
Alarm bells clanged in my head. I motioned Mina back into the kitchen.
“Go on, I’ll be there in a minute,” I whispered.
I memorized the guy on Lance’s front porch for future reference. He stood about six-foot-two, dark-haired, tanned, and beefy; he wore a sweaty blue polo shirt and wrinkled chinos. Way too much khaki to be one of Lance’s friends, and the boxer nose didn’t go well with the leather tassels on his shoes. His compadre at the street sported mirror shares, dreadlocks, and a baggy Hawaiian shirt.