The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance

by Trisha Telep

  “Just remember to do it where I don’t have to see or hear it. And use protection — you’ll have to retire if you get pregnant,” she added tartly. “Normally your fieldwork is excellent, Farshot. I’d appreciate it if you stopped acting like a cat on heat!”

  Shocked silence greeted her words. Carrie could feel her skin heating from forehead to chin. Farshot looked almost as red as her costume.

  Oversight tightened his mouth for a moment, then let out a heavy breath. “Foresight, kindly leave your personal speculations out of the office environment. Please turn your attention to the future, the immediate future. Let’s get started. What activities of importance will happen in the next twelve hours?”

  Embarrassed, she set aside her feelings quickly and got to work. She unfocused her eyes, turning her attention inwards, then outwards again, in that strange mental flip that accessed her powers. She probed at the future. “Eastside ... I see ... a red gas pipe and valve wheel. Nothing about it seems to be important, but one of us will encounter it within an hour or so. After that . . . flashes of light . . . through a dirty set of windows . . . factory windows. Somewhere in the industrial centre. Workers . . . uh, 12th and . . . Olive Street? Oliver? Oldive? I’m not getting an impression of anything violent in the next five hours, just that you’ll want to do some surveillance on the workers in the factory. And something about the gas valve.”

  “Maybe it’s a potential gas leak?” Bomber offered.

  Carrie turned her attention to the next sector. “Riverside . . . I see violence. Someone getting beaten up badly. Nearsight. . . you’re there. You’re watching.”

  “Can she interfere?” Oversight asked her. “Stop it somehow?”

  Her ability to foresee alternate pathways took a lot of energy. Straining against the future, she examined that possibility. “No . . . No, it would ruin her current undercover work. The person . . . Pier 17, around ten thirty, eleven at night, I think. They’re going to toss him off the dock. He’s a citizen; he’s hurt, he’s weighted and he’ll drown. But if Backhand saves him ... he might turn and talk, maybe even stand witness against the syndicate.”

  “Probability?” Oversight asked.

  Carrie shook her head. “I’d say . . . maybe 40 per cent. Can’t guarantee anything; that’s further ahead than I can foresee.”

  “We know. Nearsight,” Oversight addressed the yellow-clothed female next to him, “if you can bring yourself to do a little participating in roughing up this fellow: curse him, kick him, whatever — nothing too harmful - it might strengthen your cover. Right, Foresight?”

  Carrie nodded in confirmation. “It’ll help, at least a little bit.”

  Oversight nodded to Carrie. “Do you see anything else?”

  She shook her head, eyes still unfocused. The moment she turned her attention to the other side of town, however, she was struck by an immediate vision. Steelhand was planning on getting into a fight with her.

  Grimacing, she shook it off, blinked and refocused her attention again, looking further ahead. Just because she could foresee the future didn’t always make it a good idea to probe too deeply. At the moment, she really didn’t want to sort through the argument she’d soon be having with her partner, not when she was still working.

  “Uh ... I see a random mugging ... a stand-by call from the Fire Department that comes to nothing . . . Baseball game - we show up in the third inning, stay ‘til the end of the fourth ...”

  “Who’s up at the end of the fourth? I got a bet going with Stonewall from morning shift on the Batters beating the Novas tonight,” Backhand joked.

  Bomber reached over and whacked him on the back of the head. “You know she won’t tell us. Now why didn’t you let me in on this bet, huh?”

  “Because you still owe me twenty bucks from the last one you lost?”

  “Gentlemen ... let the lady continue. What about after you leave the game?” their boss asked.

  Carrie drifted into the future. She could see herself and Steelhand leaving the game. As with all her visions, she experienced a feeling of being both inside herself and seeing herself from the outside. She almost never got flashes of what her future self was thinking. This was no exception; all she could feel was how tense both she and her partner seemed.

  “Steelhand and I get on our hover bikes, we ride off . . . we ... get hit by some sort of ... powder bomb?” Blinking, Carrie tried to focus on the details. The perpetrators were elusive. She shook her head. “Too many variables to foresee who did it. Just two figures. But we’re dusted in some sort of powder.”

  “Skip ahead to the powder’s effects. Is it a poison? Some sort of drug? A tracing agent?” Oversight prodded her. “Is there a good reason to avoid getting hit?”

  She continued. “We’re . . . We’re . . .”

  What the hell?

  “... we’re showering in a rooftop garden somewhere. Hosing each other down.”

  Someone snickered, but with her attention turned inwards, Carrie didn’t see who it was. She did hear a thump as that person was whapped, however.

  “Uh . . . OK . . . now we’re changing costumes, and changing locations. A more thorough shower in one of the hiding holes . . . now we’re in civilians, it looks like we’re changing locations again ...”

  She blinked, coming back to herself. A quick glance to her left saw Steelhand giving her a puzzled frown.

  He’s not at all interested to know what I look like outside of the anonymity of my costume. He will never even let me see his face. Sour grapes settled in her stomach.

  Sure, he’ll go to the movies as a civilian with her, but he can’t stand going out in public with me. Today is just getting better and better.

  “It sounds like a tracking powder then,” Hindsight offered.

  “We don’t know that yet,” Oversight cautioned him. “It could be some other sort of contaminant. It also sounds like a sensible precaution to put some distance between themselves and that powder, to limit any continuing contamination.”

  “I can try skipping ahead a bit more,” Carrie offered, returning her attention to her power. “It’ll tire me out faster, but ... Wha—”

  “What? What do you see?” Oversight demanded as her eyes widened in unfocused shock. “Foresight?”

  She couldn’t speak. What she saw was beyond her comprehension, beyond her belief. But . . . there was no mistaking what would happen, if none of them greatly changed the course of their plans for the evening. At some point, after relocating to yet another safe house, some point during the night - she and Steelhand would be ... they would be ...

  Naked. Together. Bare hands roaming, naked limbs entwining, hungry mouths mating, supple hips flexing. That level of naked. Together.

  She watched herself, as herself- as Carrie, not as Foresight — and him as ... whatever his real name was, but not as the Ascendant hero, Steelhand. She watched him cradle her head in his palms, watched as he undulated over her in slow, strong strokes, watched their lips suckling and parting in devouring, deep—

  Something hit her, jolting her out of her vision. Heart pounding, she blinked to clear her focus and realized someone had thrown a crumpled paper ball at her face. The rumpled sheet had landed on her purple-covered lap. Given the sardonic look of enquiry from the orange-clad hero opposite her, Bomber was the culprit.

  “What did you see?” Oversight repeated.

  She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

  “Was it something horrible?” Nearsight asked her. “It looked like something horrible.”

  “Or at least something shocking,” Farshot added.

  “Is it something we should try to avoid?” Steelhand asked her.

  The concern in his voice pricked her out of her shock. Blinking again, Carrie cleared her throat. “Uh . . . I’m . . . not sure. It was such a strong vision.”

  She stopped and blushed so hot, she almost took off her mask to cool herself. Her silver gloved hands twitched; she wanted to fan herself, but she didn’t dare. N
ot when she couldn’t, daren’t reveal the details of her vision.

  “Um ... it was such a strong vision, I, ah, don’t think there’s a way we can avoid it. I mean, I literally couldn’t see anything else, when normally I’m at least peripherally aware of my realtime surroundings.”

  Not that there’s any way that I would want to avoid it, she thought, still fighting the urge to fan herself with something. She did unfold one arm, but only long enough to pluck the crumpled paper ball from her lap.

  “Well, that doesn’t answer the question. What did you see?” Oversight asked her. “Was it the effects of the powder?”

  Oh God . . .

  The heat drained out of her face. What if it’s an aphrodisiac? What if the only reason that he makes love to me is because he has no choice in the matter?

  That was a horrible thought. Squirming uncomfortably in her chair, arms refolded tightly against her chest, she shrugged. “I don’t know. But it could be. It, um, we look like we need to be isolated for a little while. A few hours. Maybe a full day. It’s nothing really harmful. I doubt we’d need medical observation,” she added quickly as Hindsight drew in a breath to speak. “It’s just. . . potentially embarrassing, I guess you could say. The sort of embarrassing where observation would just be a bad idea all the way around.”

  “What, like you break out in massive pimples, or something?” Backhand asked, wrinkling his nose at the possibility.

  “Uh . . . something like that,” Carrie muttered.

  “In that case, I think we should avoid it. If it’s not harmful, but serves no purpose other than to isolate us for a while, we’re not going to be free to do our jobs in patrolling the city,” Steelhand pointed out. “And if it happens right after we leave the baseball game, then we should definitely avoid the baseball game.”

  “Nice try, Steelhand,” their supervisor quipped, “but the two of you are still making a public appearance tonight. Be on the alert as you leave the ballpark though. Choose a different route, leave at a different time, but I do want you to go and make nice with the civilians. Try to ward off the powder and limit any direct vectors for contamination. Try to see who attacked you, Foresight.”

  Nodding, she unfocused her eyes, attempting to return to the point in time when they were assaulted with the powder. She focused on following their futures, and strained hard to follow the two men. She caught a glimpse of cement walls, metal shelving and glass instruments. “I’m seeing ... a lab of some sort. Ah! Dr Mockery,” she realized, catching a glimpse of the Rescindant. “I’m pretty sure it’s him; he usually has those purple goggles of his and I can see them perched on his head. It’s definitely his minions who are trying to dust us with the powder he’s been making.

  “He’s . . . He’s watching something on a monitor. He’s yelling at them. He’s not happy. Whatever the dust does to us ... ow ... I don’t think it gives the results he was looking for. I’m sorry, I can’t see any more right now.” Closing her eyes, she rubbed gently at her temples, trying to ease the headache that came from pressing too hard against time.

  “All right, you have your assignments. Do keep in mind that Foresight can’t see everything, so stay sharp, keep your eyes open and be safe. There are old Ascendants, and there are bold Ascendants, but there aren’t any old, bold Ascendants . . . except for Mr Invulnerable, of course,” Oversight joked. No one laughed.

  “Dismissed!”

  Everyone gathered up their briefing reports and headed for the door. Carrie/Foresight turned to her partner. He looked like he was frowning behind his blue mask and, every once in a while, he glanced her way almost warily. She had no idea what he was thinking or why he was frowning. But she knew he was spoiling for a fight.

  The door closed behind the others, leaving the two of them alone in the briefing room. She stood, but he didn’t move. Clearing her throat in the awkward silence, she offered, “Well, just in case we do go through with what I foresaw, I think we should go grab a couple of old uniforms to stash somewhere in the city before we head for the ballpark. In case that powder is some sort of contaminant.” When he just studied her, she prompted, “What do you think?”

  Folding his arms across his chest in a pose reminiscent of her earlier one, he tilted his head a little. “I think you should tell me what you foresaw. The thing that requires ‘isolation’ and is ‘potentially embarrassing’ to both of us. As one of the potentially afflicted, I have a right to know.”

  And have you screaming and running for the hills at the mere thought of being intimate with me? The woman you cannot stand outside of business hours?

  She shook her head. At least she had a better excuse to use than her fragile ego. “You know why I can’t do that, Steelhand. Foreknowledge of an incompletely foreseen event can potentially lead to an even worse situation. League rules.”

  “Fine. Then let’s talk about you trying to dump me as your partner. What is up with that?” he demanded, shifting in his seat to look at her. “I thought we were good together.”

  Good together . . . The words flashed through her, leaving behind an entirely different connotation than the one he meant. Once again, she could see their bodies intertwining, vulnerable and intimate, reducing her from Foresight, heroine of the city, to Carrie, lonely, longing woman. Flushing, she cleared her throat and dragged her mind back to the more neutral aspects of life.

  “You and I do make a good team out in the field. I don’t deny that, I have never denied that, and I swear that what I said just now in front of the others stands,” Foresight repeated. “You are an excellent addition to the team. I just . . .”

  His dark brown eyes had narrowed at her blush. They narrowed further now. “You just . . . what? You just want to get rid of me? You just want another partner? You just want to go solo? Is that it?”

  I just want you to look at me like you look at Farshot! But that wasn’t entirely accurate, so she bit back the words, frustrated. He was polite to their red-suited teammate, even flirted a little with her, but Foresight - Carrie - wanted more. She wanted more than he was giving her; she just didn’t think there was anything more within him for her, and was afraid to find out for sure.

  Aware of the passing minutes, she shook her head. “We don’t have time for this argument right now. We’ll talk later.” Then swallowing the unpleasant lump of her discomfort, shoving it deep down where it wouldn’t interfere with her job, she headed for the ladies’ locker room.

  It didn’t look like Steelhand the Uninterested was going to try to get himself into her armour-reinforced stretch pants anytime soon. Shame.

  “I’d be happy to. It’s one of the few perks of the job,” Foresight/Carrie said to yet another citizen wanting to have a picture taken with her and her partner.

  Steelhand’s smile was definitely looking strained, and hers was beginning to feel that way. She smiled a little more, posed with a giggling young woman between the two of them while the girl’s eye-rolling boyfriend took the picture. Over Steelhand’s shoulder, Carrie spotted a mother and a little boy coming out of one of the doors in the concrete-block wall. The moment the pictures were done, she gave the crowd around them an apologetic smile.

  “Thank you all for your continuing support, but I see that the bathroom is now free, and even superheroes need to, well, you know. Steelhand? Shall we?” she asked, indicating the door behind him. The bathroom trick was really simply a ruse to get away from all the people. Sometimes it was the only thing that worked - the public could be so demanding.

  “Please do excuse us,” he said graciously, wading through the crowd with an eagerness that betrayed his dislike for the press of people. As he had explained during the interview process for this job, it was one thing if he initiated the contact and could brace himself against a person’s thoughts, but an unexpected touch was unnerving and unwanted. She would’ve liked to believe that his disinterest in her was due solely to his dislike for inadvertently reading other people’s minds, but he didn’t seem to hesitate when it came
to being close to Farshot. After all, today wasn’t the first time they’d gone to the movies together.

  Thankfully, the citizens parted way, and the pair made it to the bathroom door. As soon as the two of them were inside and Steelhand had thrown the lock, he faced her, guessing her intention. “You’re going to read the future?”

  She nodded. “It’ll be easier now that we’re closer to the events.”

  Leaning back against the wall next to the door, she stared across the room and unfocused her eyes. Her awareness of the crowds out on the mezzanine level faded as her attention twisted itself inside, then out, and she saw —felt - once again the scene of her and her partner being attacked. This time the image changed. They weren’t ambushed unknowingly, and coated in the yellowish powder by surprise; this time, she watched herself fling up a protective bubble, then lash out telekinetically, capturing the two attackers as they tried to flee.

  She saw Steelhand stripping off his gloves, saw him touching the face of one of the masked, struggling captives. But then the vision switched off without warning. That was the frustrating thing about her gift; she only ever saw in glimpses and snatches, incomplete pieces. It was like trying to grasp the image printed on a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle with only a dozen pieces to go on. Sighing, she closed her eyes and shook her head.

  “All I can see is the attack happening again. But I put up a shield bubble and we catch them. Nothing else.”

  “Well, what about the ‘potentially embarrassing’ stuff?” Steelhand asked. “If we aren’t touched by the powder, thanks to your telekinesis, does the other stuff still happen?”

  Paling a little at the thought of the two of them not . . . she quickly unfocused her eyes and returned her attention to the future.

  “I see ... us letting the minions go ... We change clothes anyway? We’re in street clothes . . . travelling . . . Oh! Oh God . . .”