Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology

by Colleen Gleason

  “Charlie…”

  “Come on. Please tell me you’re not going to get back together with him. He’s awful.”

  “He’s not that bad. He has his charm. But no, I’m not planning on getting back with him. He just helped me out the other night,” I said and looked away. My cheeks warmed as I remembered exactly how I’d used him. “I agreed to go out with him to return the favor. He said he missed hanging out with me. And we’ve been working well together, so I could see us being friends.”

  “Oh, my God. How long did I tune out that you went there? Brad is a jerk. He doesn’t have women who are just friends. When he said he missed hanging out with you, he meant sex. Please tell me you know that much.”

  I could have argued, but Charlie had been there when I’d fallen apart after our breakup. She was the one who’d come over, ice cream and Scotch in hand, telling me I’d made the right choice. She was the one who helped me move on. So instead of making excuses, I just nodded.

  “It’s ridiculous. If this case is affecting you that much, you need something to take the edge off. Sex with Brad is not the answer, but I know what is.” An impish grin lit her face, breaking the heavy mood. “I’m taking you dancing.”

  Leave it to Charlie to have the right answer. Dance clubs were my secret vice. Looking at me, you'd never know I loved loud, pulsing, sweaty nightclubs. The pounding music and unbridled emotions were an addiction.

  It had been months since we’d been to Club 34, an industrial club outside of Indy. Hitting the clubs was a tradition we had started after my grandmother died. Charlie hauled me kicking and screaming to one of her favorite techno dance clubs. I had been in a dark place, and nothing she did seemed to help. On a whim, Charlie thought the energy at the dance club would shock me out of my depression. She had been right. The emotional lift ripped me from the edge of despair, and I was finally able to start healing. After that, we decided nightclubs were an empath’s Prozac.

  A night of sweaty dancing was just what I needed.

  I kept a few outfits at her apartment since it was a hike to get back to my house. Work clothes, something casual for when I stayed over, and my clubbing gear for nights like tonight. I selected a skin-tight dress that left little to the imagination. It clung to and accentuated every curve. Even though my “look” was out of fashion, I liked to think I had more of a classic beauty, like the sultry vixens of the silver screen. I was tall and busty: a body by Vargas.

  The low-cut back of the dress showed off my tattoos. I was up to three now. It might have been my reluctance to advertise my powers or my fear of needles that kept me from covering myself in ink, like so many witches. Mine were small and understated. A sparrow on the base of my neck had an aura spell inked in it. It helped focus my powers so I could connect with the fading aura during my reads. The caduceus on my wrist contained a diagnostic spell. It was vital in identifying illness and injuries. And my first, a lotus with pink petals, unfolded at the small of my back. The spell there was for clarity of heart and mind, my focus.

  Clarity was one thing I struggled with. In learning about my gift, I had only come across two types of empaths: power-hungry manipulators and those driven mad. I pulled power through the lotus petal on a daily basis, a kind of meditation to help center myself, with the hope I would become neither.

  I pulled the back of the dress up to cover the flower, slipped on my high heels, and grabbed my purse. Tonight I’m leaving the case behind and enjoying myself for a change, I thought as I headed downstairs.

  A few minutes later, Charlie joined me. The clicking of her boots echoed through the empty room as she made her way down the stairs. And the real Charlie was ready to play. She wore leather bike shorts and a shirt that was little more than a sports bra. The outfit artfully framed her dozen or so tattoos, highlighting the riot of color that splashed across her skin. They varied in size from the small blue star that graced her shoulder to the massive sepia-toned wings that covered her entire back. Even her jewelry was loud and aggressive. She had replaced the thin silver ring in her eyebrow with a harsh spike. A heavy chain ran from an ear piercing to her nose. And to top it off, she had spiked her short red hair to gravity-defying heights.

  It surprised me every time we went out, how completely she could change. Tonight she was like one of those exotic jungle birds, full of color and spiked edges, and every inch of her screamed “Charlie.”

  “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.” She flicked her tongue, and the newly reinserted piercing clicked against her teeth. “I need to dance.”

  On the drive to the club, we had more time to talk. Since she had moved out, I felt as if I was missing out on her life. “So, I haven’t seen Zoe for a while. We should have invited her to come with us.”

  “Oh, you know how it goes. She has her family drama, and I want to give her space. I know she’s looking for something long-term. But until she takes a stand with her parents, I can’t see us taking it to the next level.”

  Charlie was three years younger than I, but she seemed to have a better grasp on the whole relationship front. I hoped Zoe figured out her issues. They were good for each other.

  “What about you?” she asked. “Maybe we should have invited that hunky special agent.”

  I had to choke back a laugh. “Seriously? I don’t think that man could find fun even if it bit him on the ass!”

  “But you have to admit it’s a nice ass, and he had some impressive equipment.”

  “I will give you that.” I smiled remembering how I also had admired Agent King’s equipment. “But I’ll be glad when he’s gone. His sour mood is way more than I can handle.”

  Charlie’s second job was trying to find me a “proper witch” to date. When we were younger she had decided I’d only be happy with another witch and had taken an unhealthy interest in my love life. She was determined to find the right guy. I wasn’t sure where she found some of the men she paraded in front of me, but Charlie never missed a chance to set me up. She’d even tried to sign me up for Magic Match, an online dating site.

  I nixed that idea right away. I could see it now:

  “Hi, I’m Olivia. I’m 35 and love animals and dance music. Occupation: funeral director and coroner. I spend my days with the dead. Powers: empathy and reliving people’s dying moments. Oh, and by the way, please be a nice guy because, with my abilities, I’ll be able to tell if you’re married or secretly want to date the guy at the table next to us.”

  It would make it easier to weed out the weirdos, but I was worried I’d fall into that category too.

  “What about that Rick?” Charlie said, not letting the subject go. “He seemed nice and was easy on the eyes.”

  “Yes, he was. But he’s too charming, and way too confident for his own good.” Between the two men, Rick was far more dangerous in my book. I had just met him, and despite my protest, I was already taken in by his easy nature.

  “I actually liked him. I think you could use someone like him your life.”

  “How so?”

  “You need someone to remind you that you’re not dead. All work, no play will make you crazy, Olivia. I wish you’d let loose every once in a while and do something reckless.”

  “I run a business. I have employees. And on top of that I’m a public figure. We aren’t teenagers anymore. I have responsibilities.”

  Realizing she had strayed into a sensitive subject, Charlie turned on the music. “Screw responsibilities. We just need to have some fun tonight.”

  We rode the rest of the way singing to bad songs on the radio until she pulled off the highway. The club was located in a nondescript, windowless warehouse. It would have been easy to mistake it for just another industrial building until you spotted the colossal, tattooed man dressed in leather standing outside the red entrance door.

  Charlie gave him a wink as we approached. “How’s it hangin’, Bruce?”

  Neither of us actually knew his name. He hadn’t so much as spoken a word to either of us over the years
we’d been coming here. But one night I mentioned that he looked a lot like Lou Ferrigno from “The Incredible Hulk,” and the name Bruce just stuck.

  Although we’d never had a conversation, I considered Bruce a friend. When I started coming here, I had no clue how the crowds would affect me. The first night I almost left with a pack of drunk kids from the local academy on their way to another party. Bruce took one look at my glazed expression and yanked me out of the group. Treating me like a naughty toddler, he set me on a stool by the front door until one of his lackeys found Charlie. After that, Charlie and I were careful not to get separated, and instituted a “no man left behind” policy. For all his rough exterior, Bruce was one of the good guys.

  As usual he nodded and silently opened the door for us. Charlie landed a kiss on his cheek before strolling in, and I thought I might have seen a small twitch of a smile as I passed, but it was gone before I could be sure.

  The dark smells of sweat, cigarettes, and sex that hung in the air washed over me as we entered the club. The darkness of the warehouse was cut only by the red and blue spotlights that swirled and danced to the thumping house mix. The rhythmic bass of the music pulsed through me like a heartbeat.

  Immediately the waves of emotion crashed into me, sucking me in. With Charlie on my heels, I joined the masses, just another body worshiping at the triple altar of abandon, madness, and debauchery. It was better than any high. Soon, I became part of the crowd and lost all sense of self.

  After a few hours, Charlie caught my arm and pointed toward the bar. We forced our way to the back of the club. I ordered a beer and vodka cranberry while Charlie tried to find a free table for us to stand at. The club was starting to thin out, and we snagged a spot in the back.

  We’d just started our drinks when a young guy pushed his way between us. He gave me a “tough luck” shrug, turned his back to me, and focused his attention on Charlie. It wasn’t unusual for her to get hit on. Charlie’s pixie punk-rock look was a big hit in the clubs, but this guy was beyond rude. I moved to the side, peering around his purple spiked hair, and shot a questioning look at her. She shrugged and mouthed “Got me.”

  The interloper leaned close to Charlie and tried to strike up a conversation over the deafening crowd. I leaned against the table, almost feeling sorry for the guy as she skillfully rebuffed his advances.

  Charlie could handle herself, so I closed my eyes, and soaked in the atmosphere. I could feel the stress wash out of my system with each throb of the bass. But through it all, I picked up a dark spike of energy and my eyes shot open. The discordant note set my pulse racing, and I searched frantically for the source.

  The man hitting on Charlie held a leather strap in his fist, a stone (a charmed one, of course) dangling from the end. I focused on it, trying to get a read, but the crowd interfered too much. He tried to hand the necklace to Charlie, but she didn’t accept it. Without hesitation, I dumped the rest of my drink over his head and snatched the thing from his grip. When the stone touched my palm, I recognized the signature. It was like the other charm I’d found on the girl, but it wasn’t charged. Not waiting for me to explain, Charlie hooked an arm around me and hauled me away from the table. Purple hair stood there screaming what I can only imagine were curses in my direction.

  "What was that about? You didn't seriously think I'd take a strange charm from that creep?" she asked as we got closer to the front.

  Charlie hated it when people assumed she was weak just because she was small. I knew she could handle herself. Besides being a powerful witch in her own right, Charlie was an excellent marksman, and I’d witnessed her bring a man twice her size to his knees. She was the person I wanted on my team if the shit ever hit the fan.

  “It was that charm. It might just be me, but I’d swear it had the same signature as the one from the crash site. I know you can take care of yourself. But you know how I get at the clubs...Poor impulse control." I looked at her with my best pout. "Sorry!"

  Charlie just shook her head, dismissing the whole thing. "We'd better tell Bruce," she finally said.

  We made our way through the crush of bodies to the exit. At the front of the club, I slipped an arm around Bruce so I could get close enough for him to hear me. “Keep an eye out for a boy with spiky purple hair and a Blondie T-shirt. He’s giving off predator vibes. I think he's passing illegal charms.” Bruce’s eye twitched at the mention of trouble. I knew he took my warning seriously.

  “You’re such a good bouncer,” I said. My buzz hadn’t fully worn off yet, and before I knew it I gave the stocky man a bear hug. “I’m so glad you’re here to protect everyone. Good night, Bruce.”

  He slipped out of my arms and gave me a disapproving look.

  “Oh, relax,” I said and slapped him on the chest. “I’m not coming on to you.” I took another step forward and whispered in his ear. “But you are missing a really good time.” I trotted off after Charlie, giggling like a drunken college girl. Halfway to the car I stopped, blew Bruce a kiss, and waved goodbye. I wasn’t actually interested, but I got a perverse pleasure seeing him so uncomfortable from the attention. Charlie was right. The straitlaced guys were fun to tease.

  After I had turned around, Bruce whistled to one of his minions and I knew he’d take care of the problem. I wouldn’t want to be that punk kid.

  “Get in the car,” Charlie said, rolling her eyes as I strutted up behind her. Physically exhausted, I crawled into the passenger seat and closed my eyes, the bass still pulsing in my blood. The incident with the charm made it difficult for me to hold on to my earlier buzz, but I did my best.

  I was half asleep by the time we reached Armstrong’s, so I opted to crash in Charlie’s spare bedroom. I drifted off and clung desperately to the mirage of contentment. Morning would be here soon enough, bringing reality crashing back in.

  SEVEN

  January sixteenth

  Charlie was up before me, waiting as she did almost every morning, with a mug of hot coffee in hand. Before I had even managed to shower and dress she had made breakfast, outfitted herself in her secretary disguise, and gotten ready for the day.

  “The Mathison family should be here by ten.” She handed me my coffee and started going over the schedule for the day. After reminding me of a few more items that needed my attention, she brought up our conversation from last night. “Don’t forget, Rick is going to be by this afternoon. Make sure you invite him to the meeting with Special Agent King.”

  I groaned, second guessing the plan we’d come up with. Now that I was feeling more like myself, I wasn’t sure I should get in the middle of a pissing match between the FPD and the Order.

  “I should just hand over the case to the Division. I don’t think I should get involved. King made it clear he didn’t want to work with the Order and specifically not with Inspector Bishop.”

  “That sounds like a personal problem. He’ll get over it.” She dismissed the issue summarily.

  “Why should I make it my problem? What if Rick is just as resistant? This isn’t my job. All I need to do is determine the cause of death.”

  “If not you, then who? You’re the only person who’s linked the other cases with this one. The last time you left it to the ‘authorities’ they let the ball drop. You dispelled the charm. That means you’re the only one who can identify the magic that was used to enchant it.”

  I picked up some bacon and took a bite, thinking. She was right about one thing. If these three cases were linked, this might be my only opportunity to get the FPD and the Order involved. The local sheriff’s department had refused to act on the information last time. There was a bigger case here, and I knew my best hope was to get Agent King interested.

  Pointing my half-eaten rasher of bacon at Charlie, I said, “Call Dan and have him come in early to handle the Mathison viewing. The makeup still needs to be done, but after that he just needs to follow the schedule. I’m sure he can handle that without my help. I’m going to spend the rest of the day wrapping up th
is accident and putting together some information about the other cases.”

  “Before he left yesterday, I told Dan to be in early,” she said and sat beside me. “He was thrilled when I told him he’d be in charge of the whole thing. You should have seen him. I’m sure he went home and posted it on Facebook.”

  Having a precog employee had some advantages. My morning seemed wide open now, but I wasn’t quite ready to leave the comfort of Charlie’s apartment. Stalling, I pushed the eggs around on the plate.

  “Thanks for last night. I needed some time away. I hope you had some fun, even though we left early.”

  “Are you kidding me?” She lit up. “Anytime I can play dress-up and grind with hot young bodies I’m on board. We should start doing that every Friday. I haven’t had that much fun in months.”

  I somehow doubted that. Charlie was young and vibrant. She was one of those people who savored every second of life. “Why do you stay here?” I asked, not for the first time. I didn’t understand why she didn’t join one of the Indy or Chicago councils.

  “I have no idea what you mean.” She feigned innocence.

  “Seriously! You’d be happier in a big city working at a clinic or even running a charm shop. You’re talented and have more to offer than being my office manager. I feel as if this town is crushing you.”

  With an exaggerated sigh, she crossed her arms. Her lips pulled down tight in a frown. “Olivia, you don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re my family, and I need you as much as you need me. Anyways, if I left town, I’d miss out on Friday Night Technogasm. What do you think about that for a name? I can put it on the schedule and everything. Next time we should bring Dan and see if we can rub some of that shine off him.”

  An image of Dan in his pastel polo shirt grinding in the pit popped into my head, and I nearly snorted my eggs. “I think he would have a stroke just seeing you in your club gear.”