by Martha Woods
Her lower back ached from sitting so long, and her flask of bourbon had long run dry. It was about time to call it a day. She’d told at least ten widows their husbands loved them and wanted them to be happy. All she had to do was listen for the lament that played like a scratched record in their thoughts. Once a widow heard her husband’s name pass Tessa’s lips, they tended not to question her anymore. She overcharged several drunk jackasses and claimed to see a vision of their adultery. Their insecurity lay just beneath the surface, and she could usually string together two convincing names from their anxious thoughts. She’d also had a handful of giggling teenagers, an old man who’d simply hit on her, and a little boy who wanted to know if his dog would come back. She’d made several hundred dollars. The festival ran three Saturdays in a row. She’d stay one more before moving on. She hadn’t quite settled on where she wanted to go next. She was leaning towards Texas. She didn’t like snow much, and winter was already making an appearance in the early morning as frost clung to the grass and trees.
Tessa moved to take down her small sign, which simply read Psychic. She did not display her name, her contact information, or her fee. She preferred anonymity and flexibility. For the old widows she only charged twenty dollars. For the drunkards, forty. For the fervent believers of the occult, a hundred bucks or more. They were crazy. Tessa might be able to read minds, but these assholes believed in witchcraft and shapeshifting and vampires.
When she turned back to the table, a man sat across from her. She jumped, startled.
“Shit, you scared me,” she said.
The man now sitting across from her smirked. “You don’t sound much like a psychic,” he said. His voice was low, and there was the tiniest bit of grit to it that she liked. He had chestnut brown hair that was cut short to accent a sexy widow’s peak. His skin was ghostly pale and his eyes were a piercing emerald green that sent a tingling sensation across her skin as they raked over her. Even in the dim light, she could see the flecks of gold near his pupils. He looked delicious. Tessa sized him up and decided it had been a while since she’d indulged in a passing tryst.
“You think you know all about psychics?” she countered, and sat down, offering a mischievous smile that was borderline flirtatious.
His thin pink lips curved slightly in amusement. His thoughts flirted with attraction, but she felt the weight of his condescension. He thought she was silly. She was going to overcharge his handsome ass.
“Enough,” he said. He reached for his wallet, pulled out a hundred-dollar bill, and put it on the table in front of her, raising an eyebrow as if in challenge. That challenge echoed in his thoughts.
“Two hundred,” she countered, sitting back and crossing her arms. Another hundred-dollar bill appeared.
“Thank you,” she said with a sly smile as she palmed the bills. “What’s your name?”
“Kristian,” he said.
“Alright, Kris,” she said. He flinched at the informal nickname. Tessa bit back a smile at ruffling his posh feathers. “Let’s do this.”
She put both of her palms down on the table on either side of her fake crystal ball and closed her eyes. She waited for his thoughts to unravel, loosening like a knot in a cord. When she first met someone, she was often slapped with a barrage of thoughts, visions, and feelings all at once, no form to be had. The more she got to know someone the more she could read, until eventually she could hear every tiny thought that passed between their ears. She hadn’t been close enough to someone for years for that to be the case. And as far as her business went, if she let people sit in silence long enough, their thoughts would align themselves into some semblance of readable order.
“You don’t need to ask me any questions first?” he said, surprise creeping into his gravelly voice.
“Shh.” She hushed him and continued to listen, suppressing a smile when she could feel his mild confusion. Most psychics would play mind games, asking leading questions in order to cold read. She combed through vague feelings and a few random thoughts she couldn’t pull enough context from to be of use. She waited. He grew impatient. He crossed his arms over his chest in the peripherals of her vision. Then, like finding the missing puzzle piece, she put together something that could be useful.
“I’m getting something,” she said. His arms loosened. “I’m picking up on a…Veronica. You’re close to her. You feel protective of her. You’re worried about her. You fear they are coming.”
Before a breath had passed, he’d grabbed her wrist so violently she cried out.
“The hell!” she cursed.
He yanked her towards him, toppling the stool between them. The fake crystal ball toppled to the floor with a crack. “Who are you?” he hissed.
“Jesus,” she said, breathless with pain. It felt like he might snap her wrist. “Let go of me, asshole.”
He didn’t. His eyes bored into her with such vicious, unveiled hatred she almost withered. But fuck this guy. She took a deep breath through the pain and brought the heel of her other hand up, intent on breaking his nose. She’d lived on the streets long enough to learn self-defense. He caught her other wrist easily, and suddenly her back was against the brick wall. His enormous hand closed around her throat, and her feet dangled an inch above the ground. Her vision blurred, ears ringing.
“Who are you?” he repeated, the grit in his voice no longer sexy. It sent a terrifying chill through her.
She couldn’t breathe, much less answer him. Fear gripped her, and she could not tell if it was her own or his. He glared at her. The golden flecks burned like a flame. It was the last thing she saw.
* * *
Tessa opened her eyes and groaned as a sharp throbbing reached her temples. She blinked a few times, her vision tilting. She sat up slowly. She found herself on a leather sectional in front of a blazing fire. Tessa peered around the penthouse studio, taking in the windows hidden behind heavy drapes and the wood door that looked as though it had been taken straight off a castle. She could see the end of a claw foot tub peeking out from behind a silk screen that could have been an ancient Chinese artifact. Artwork warmed otherwise white walls and cold, hard lines created by concrete and granite.
She could get out of here. She had escaped before. The door would be easiest, but she’d settle for crawling out a window if she could.
Her attacker sat on the other side of the couch, watching her with an intense gaze. His tall, lean physique looked at ease.
“You fucking kidnapped me?” she said, flinching as her head responded to her own raised voice with a piercing pain. “Dick move, man.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” he said casually, apparently unimpressed with her vulgarity.
“What’s it to you?” she asked, glaring at her assailant
“Why didn’t you fight back?” he asked, standing and approaching her with a graceful, controlled movement that surprised her. He was tall. Tall men often appeared gangly, but there was a grace to him despite his size.
“I tried,” she said. “And I will again if you get any closer.”
“You’re just human, aren’t you?” he said, eyes suddenly thoughtful.
She gaped at him. Shit.
“Jesus Christ,” she said. “I didn’t take you for one of the crazies. My mistake. Look, I’m not a real psychic.”
“If you aren’t a psychic,” he leaned forward, “then how can you explain what you told me?”
Tessa chewed her lip. He was one of them, one of the damned crazies that believed in the impossible. What would he do to her if she told him what she could do? He’d already gone through the trouble of kidnapping her for fuck all reason.
Finally, Tessa shrugged. “It was a shot in the dark, man.”
Kristian’s eyes narrowed, green eyes going dark. He wasn’t having it.
“You mean to tell me you plucked the name Veronica out nowhere? That it wasn’t already whispered in your ear?”
Tessa threw her hands up in the air. Frustration boiled inside
of her. “Sure, man. Just...just let me go.”
He ignored her request to stay away from her. Suddenly, he was sitting next to her and reaching a gentle hand out to brush the bruise quickly forming on her neck.
“Don’t touch me,” she growled, and moved away.
Her wrist was in his hand before she could register that he moved at all. He yanked her close to him, his green eyes boring into hers. She could catch words racing through his mind.
Witches.
Calder.
“Dude, I didn’t sign up to deal with witches.”
“Excuse me?” Kristian jerked back. Realization dawned on his face, eyes opening wide. “I’ve never met a human who could…” He trailed off, his thoughts revealing more than he probably intended. Like the fact, he didn’t believe he was human.
“You aren’t...human? If you’re not human, what are you?” she asked, skeptical. This guy could believe whatever he wanted. He just needed to leave her the hell alone. Tessa eyed the door on the other side of Kristian. If she ran to it, would it be locked?
He cocked his head, as if considering whether or not to indulge her request. This annoyed her. She needed to distract him. If she could feed his fantasy, maybe it would give her enough time to run for it.
“The undead,” he said, that smug smirk she’d seen before replaying across his features.
“Zombie?” she scoffed. Tessa prayed this guy didn’t have a collection of brains in his fridge.
“Vampire,” he corrected.
“Right,” she said, and gingerly stood up. She didn’t feel dizzy anymore. It was time to get the hell out of here. Tessa stepped on the coffee table, launching herself toward the door. It was almost within reach. Elation filled her.
Later, crazy.
She reached for the door knob. She didn’t even blink and suddenly, he was in front of her.
“I cannot let you leave,” he said, almost apologetically, but not quite. He was curious. He was eager. He was attracted. He was still condescending. But of all things, he wasn’t sorry.
Fear rose in her chest again. “What do you want?” she asked, wary of tipping the crazy too far.
“You don’t believe in vampires?” he asked, chuckling. She expected his laugh to be deranged, but it was a pleasant sound. “You literally read minds, but you don’t believe in vampires?”
“I consider my…ability…an evolution of the human brain. It was bound to happen at some point. We can only access, what, four percent of our brains? But vampires are…vampires,” she said. She backed away from him slowly. She wondered if the best tactic was to feed into his delusion or call him on it.
“If you’re a vampire, prove it,” she said. If this went poorly, she had a knife tucked into her boot at least.
He met her fierce gaze with an unsuppressed amusement.
“Move in front of the fire. Back to the flames, please,” he instructed.
“Are you going to push me in?” she asked, not moving.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Indulge me.”
She huffed, annoyed, but did as he asked.
“Observe,” he said, pointing to her shadow as it danced and flickered over the area rug.
“So? What’s your point, Peter Pan?” she said, crossing her arms. He came to stand next to her. She edged away as he approached. He took her place in front of the fire. No shadow appeared. She sucked in a breath. “Jesus Christ.”
“Not exactly,” he said, smug and satisfied. “I would show you my fangs, but it would put me in a hunting mood, and you are a temptation I do not wish to indulge in.”
She eyed him suspiciously as she digested the information. He was right. She could read minds, and although she’d assigned this ability to a freak glitch in DNA, something inside of her easily accepted the supernatural alternative. It strangely made her feel better, less isolated.
“Right,” she said, sitting back down on the couch. “Well, are you going to kill me?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head and offering a seductive smile. “It has been years since I killed. With financial means…anything can be bought on the black market. It has a bitter taste, but it is preferable to living in the shadows to avoid persecution and death. Humans are quite upset when their own get killed. Besides, humans aren’t the only ones who have evolved. Killing is a pointless, animalistic pastime. We have long outgrown its necessity.”
His thoughts reflected his words as truth.
“Fine,” she said. “So can I leave?”
“Afraid not,” he shook his head. “You are either a gift or a threat, one that I have yet to figure out. If the Calder sent you to read our minds, to report to them on our intended movements, then I cannot let you run back to them. If you aren’t...then you are too rare for me to release back into the world, yet.”
Tessa swallowed hard. She’d been running for a long time. It had finally caught up to her, even if this wasn’t what she expected.
“You have no more questions?” he asked. He still stood in front of the fire, regarding her as if he were truly seeing her for the first time. His eyes lingered on her short, muscular legs and her narrow torso. She was wearing skinny jeans, a tank top, and a gypsyesque pashmina. His assessment continued, traveling over her breasts and finally landing on her olive face, dark coffee eyes, and thick black hair, braided intricately and hanging nearly to her waist. She let him look. She couldn’t help but like the hunger in his eyes. She often had men stare, but never quite like that.
He’s a… what? A vampire? She reminded herself. She glanced back to where his shadow could be, barely believing it. It could be a trick of light, mirrors placed somewhere within the studio. Or, he could be telling the truth. She didn’t particularly want to stay to find out.
“While I demand that you stay here, I promises that I will treat you as a guest until you decide to cross me. Consider yourself warned, if you do in fact work for the Calder.”
She considered it. She normally camped just outside the city. She had an old hatchback that carried the teardrop trailer she’d purchased a few years ago. But she hadn’t had a proper shower in weeks, and she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d slept in a real bed.
“Why do you want me to stay?” she asked.
“You fascinate me,” he said, and took a step closer to her. His eyes devoured her. His thoughts did too. She felt drawn to him in a strangely kinetic way. And he felt it too, even if he thought that she was the enemy. His thoughts tickled her skin each time he lost track of his accusations.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, Dracula,” she said, jabbing her pointer finger into his chest to push him back. “I need a place to stay, and you kidnapped me. So, I’m going to stay the night. I’m going to start by taking a bath.” She pointed to the claw foot tub. “And you are either going to order or cook dinner. Then…we can get to know each other a little better.”
He grinned, and she thought her chest might crack from the pressure of her heart’s increasing rhythm. Damn him for being so beautiful.
* * *
She lingered in the bath longer than she intended, but the salts she’d found sitting on the edge of the tub created a tingling on her skin that felt glorious, and being so immersed in hot water tempted the soul to drown. But when her stomach growled loudly, she finally relented and stepped out of the tub. She dressed again, leaving the pashmina draped over the screen, and stepped out barefoot in her jeans and tank top.
She had a moment to peer at the door longingly again. What had happened to her booth? Had her trailer been towed yet? He appeared by her side immediately and offered her a glass of red wine.
“Thank you,” she said, and made her way to the table. He’d cooked for her while she bathed. He’d barely made a noise in the kitchen as he did so, but she smelled the bacon and her stomach rumbled in response. She sat down in front of a beautiful display of eggs benedict, asparagus, and fresh fruit.
“Do you eat human food?” she asked, picking up a fork.
“I do not,” he replied, watching her intently as she took her first bite. She refrained from moaning in pleasure. The thick cut bacon was sweet and peppery all at once. She did not want to offer him the satisfaction. “It has no taste for me.”
“And yet you cook?” she said, taking another large bite. She hadn’t eaten all day.
“I do. I like finding ways to occupy my time.” He moved to sit down next to her.
She nodded and took a sip of her wine.
“You still have not told me your name,” he reminded her.
She chewed on her lip. It might have been the wine. Or it could have been the long soak in the bath salts that addled her brain, but she found herself speaking. “Tessa Burch.”
She could have sworn she saw him mouth her name, his lips parting for a split second.
“Where, may I ask, are you from?” he asked. Even sitting next to her, his body was aimed toward her as if he could not pull away. His knee touched the outside of her thigh and sent a different tingling sensation over her skin.
“California originally,” she said. “But I left when I was sixteen. Been traveling ever since.”
“Sixteen? That is young these days. How old are you now?”
“Twenty-five,” she said, observing his reaction in her peripheral vision. But he did not react, he just continued to stare at her intently.
“When did your powers manifest?” he asked. She noticed how still his hands were, resting in his lap. He did not fidget. He was like a statue, a very chiseled, beautiful statue.
“As a girl. I didn’t know what was happening,” she explained, weighing how much she wanted to share. “I told my parents and they had me committed.”
He frowned sympathetically. She hated sympathy. It had been written across her parents faces every time they visited her. It had been in the eyes of the nurses that escorted her to therapy.