Dangerous Calling (The Shadowminds)

by AJ Larrieu

  “Thanks for coming out here, Annette. Can’t be too careful.” The dog yipped, and he shushed it.

  “Of course.” The small woman. She must be Annette Perrin, the owner. Her voice was low-pitched and rich, with a deep Southern drawl. Confidence, culture and old money. “You’re one of our best clients, Senator. We’re happy to accommodate you however we can.”

  “Senator?” I stared at him, and Shane did the same.

  “State senator,” he said, peering through the vines. “Buddy Broussard. Didn’t recognize him at first—he’s running for governor. You know—the one with all the ads about how he’s a self-made businessman?”

  “Oh, him?” I looked at him with new disgust. “Ugh.”

  “What happened to her?” Buddy was looking at Diana. The shadow of a bruise I’d seen on her cheek had deepened and turned darker.

  “I fell down the stairs.” She bit off the words. Buddy didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t comment.

  “Her abilities are unaffected,” Annette said.

  “Humph.”

  “Abilities?” Shane’s brows drew together.

  “If that’s what she means, why are they meeting in a public park?”

  “Fuck if I know.” He glared through the vines, then pulled out his phone and turned on the video. I nodded in agreement. He levitated his phone just above the fence, where he could get a clear shot.

  “You have our fee?” Annette asked.

  “Yeah, yeah, right here.” Buddy handed her a thick white envelope. She took it without looking at it. “You’re sure she’ll get the job done?”

  “Of course.” Annette put a slender hand on Diana’s shoulder. “Go ahead, Dia. Just like we talked about.”

  I couldn’t make out Diana’s face, and I didn’t dare slip into anyone’s head. Diana shifted in her seat, then reached across the table and took Buddy’s hands. He yanked them back as though she’d burned him.

  Whatever was going on, it wasn’t what I’d expected.

  “Whoa, hey, girl, why you gotta hold my hand?”

  “It helps her to focus. You want her to be able to read your future, right? Not mine or Alex’s over there. It only takes a moment.”

  “Holy shit.” Even in my head, Shane’s voice was a whisper. “She’s a sibyl.”

  I glanced at him. His eyes were wide.

  “I thought they were a myth,” he said.

  “You mean she can really see the future?”

  “Well, I guess we’ll find out.”

  Buddy readjusted his cap. “Don’t see why that should help.”

  “You want an accurate reading, don’t you? Try to relax.”

  Buddy rolled his shoulders, but when Diana took his hands again, he didn’t pull back. A long stretch of silence followed, broken only by the occasional creak of the picnic table as Buddy shifted in his seat. Annette remained completely still.

  Finally, Diana spoke. “Sorry, Mr. Broussard. I see you losing by two and a half points.”

  “Bullshit.” Buddy yanked his hands back. “Bullshit! Look again.”

  “Two and a half points. Williams wins. The closest parishes are Caddeaux, Bordelon and St. Joseph. About half a point each. I recommend you focus your efforts there.” I didn’t miss the subtle hint of satisfaction in her voice.

  “She can see that level of detail? Jesus.”

  Shane stared at her. “Like I said, I’ve never met a sibyl before.”

  “Look again.” Buddy was almost pleading. “Maybe you missed something.”

  Diana went cold. “I never miss.”

  “I’m not paying for this crap.” Buddy stood up, towering over the two women.

  “If you want a different outcome, you’re just going to have to work harder.” There was no mistaking Diana’s smirk this time.

  “Lying bitch—” He raised his hand to backhand her. He started to swing, and Diana cringed. I looked at Shane—should we intervene, use telekinesis—

  Annette stopped him in mid-strike with one hand on his forearm. She didn’t even flinch. She was half his size at most, and she didn’t even stagger. I nearly gave myself away with a gasp.

  “I must ask you not to raise your hand to my employees, Buddy. You’re a very good client, but I have my limits.” Her voice was deadly calm.

  “This is bullshit.” He yanked his arm back. “You promised me the election, and for what I’m paying—”

  “I promised you information, which I have given you. Dia, are you all right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “We’re done here.” She stood up, and Diana did the same, casting one furious glance at Buddy. They turned and walked away from him. The dog started yipping again.

  “Hey, wait! Wait—I need—there’s gotta be something we can do, here.” Buddy scrambled after them, his legs tangled in the barking dog’s leash. Annette put an arm around Diana’s shoulder and sailed out of the playground to the SUV, where the driver had already opened the door for her. “One of your other people—you know, the one who took care of that other problem for me. Maybe we could—”

  “Payment first,” she said, without even looking at him. The driver helped Diana into the car.

  “Annie, you know I’m good for it. I just need a few days—”

  “Then talk to me in a few days.” She got into the car, and the driver closed the door after her.

  Buddy banged on the window. “Annie! Come on, Annette! Alex, come on, I just need a little favor. Talk to her—when have I ever not paid up, huh?”

  The driver ignored him completely and got into the car. If Buddy hadn’t stepped back, they would’ve run over his foot.

  “Shit!” He kicked at the metal post supporting the chain link. It rattled, and the dog erupted into another round of yips. “Shut up.” He yanked on the poor thing’s leash, and it whimpered and went quiet. “Come on.”

  He got into an expensive sedan parked across the street and drove away. We waited until he was gone before creeping back to the car.

  “It makes a sick kind of sense,” Shane said as he unlocked the door. “I mean, if I’d spent that much money on an election, I’d want to know what was going to happen, too.”

  “Doesn’t look like it’s doing him much good.”

  “Yet. God only knows what else he’s paying her to do.” We got in, and Shane pulled out into the dark street. “Slimy son of a bitch. And what about the woman—Annette. What the hell is she?”

  “I don’t know, but she must have some kind of power. She didn’t even flinch when she blocked him.”

  “You think she was pulling?”

  I shook my head. “I would’ve felt it.”

  “Just a really powerful converter?”

  “I think I would’ve felt that too.” There was always a little buzz associated with a shadowmind using her powers, and I was particularly sensitive to them. When Annette blocked Buddy’s strike, I hadn’t felt a thing. But I remembered how Diana had been able to keep me out of her mind. Perhaps this woman had similar control.

  When we made it back to the B&B, Shane used his powers to open the garage door. “At least it’s not as bad as we thought. I mean, it’s not some kind of high-end brothel.”

  “Yeah.” But I remembered what Diana had said, how it wasn’t about her. Had it been about Buddy all along?

  “We’ll figure something out,” Shane said softly as he drove into the garage. “Don’t worry.”

  “How do you know I’m worried?” I said, and Shane laughed.

  “Come on, Cass. You feel like a plucked string.” The door rumbled closed behind us.

  “I feel responsible for her,” I said finally, into the dark. “She came to me for help.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m not s
ure I’m up for this.” It was the thing I’d been thinking all along, afraid saying it out loud would make it real. If more shadowminds learned about my powers, there were going to be more like Diana, people needing help I wasn’t sure I knew how to give. I was an unemployed engineer, not a superhero. I didn’t know how to fight scary-powerful shadowminds with unknown powers, or politicians with enough money to buy half the Quarter.

  “Whatever she is, you’re more than a match for her,” Shane said. “No doubt.”

  I was about to deny it when the motion alert on my phone dinged.

  We watched as the SUV drove up to the enormous house. Annette brought Diana inside herself, and I watched the lights in a second floor room come on a few minutes later. Southeast corner. Good to know. A moment later, Buddy’s expensive sedan squealed up the driveway.

  “Damn,” Shane said. “That guy doesn’t know when to quit.” He hit a button to record whatever happened next. Buddy got out of the car and slammed the door, and a guard met him on the driveway. Buddy looked as though he was saying something that involved expletives. He was definitely yelling. The guard just shook his head. I wished we had audio.

  Buddy gestured. The guard didn’t move. Buddy tried to shove past him, and the guard stopped him with one hand. I was torn between calling the police and going to intervene in person. Then, with a huff and a backward glance, Buddy got back in his car and peeled out.

  “It’s not going to be easy to get into that house,” Shane said.

  We looked at each other. Whatever the place was, at least they protected their own.

  * * *

  When we went downstairs the next morning, Lionel and Bruce were in the kitchen, staring at the television. That was rare enough. But neither one of them had made coffee. That was just plain shocking.

  “What’s going on?” I stood behind Lionel on tiptoe to look over his shoulder.

  “Shh,” Bruce said. I looked at the screen. It was the local news. A reporter was standing in front of the Baton Rouge courthouse in bright sunlight.

  “A statewide manhunt continues for Detective Ian West, a former narcotics investigator in the Baton Rouge Police Department. Authorities say West is wanted for questioning in the investigation of the murders of Timothy Deloach and Robert Bradding, both of Port Allen, but have not said why or whether or not he is a suspect.”

  “Holy shit,” Shane said.

  The news cut to a picture of a younger—and happier—Ian in police uniform, and the anchor asked the reporter for more details on the case.

  “Well, Holly, my sources with the BRPD tell me Bradding and Deloach were found dead in West’s Baton Rouge apartment less than twenty-four hours ago. Viewers may remember that both men were questioned in a corruption inquiry surrounding the River Queen Casino in November of last year, in which a key witness, Emily Sanchez, committed suicide while in protective custody. No one is saying whether these two cases are related, but we do know that West was assigned to the task force in the River Queen investigation.”

  “Marco, what should a member of the public do if they encounter West?”

  “Holly, authorities are asking anyone with knowledge of West’s whereabouts to contact police immediately. Do not approach him or attempt to detain him. Go to a safe location and call the hotline on your screen.”

  “Thank you, Marco. Marco Raine reporting live from Baton Rouge.” Holly smiled at the camera. “When we come back—a new bill in the state senate could mean big changes for Louisiana’s hospitality industry. Jenny Wu has more, after this.”

  Lionel switched off the television.

  “Oh my God,” I said.

  Shane said, “I knew there was something off about that bastard.”

  “Susannah vouched for him. She said he wasn’t dangerous.” At this point, I wasn’t sure that was enough.

  “Give him the benefit of the doubt,” Lionel said. “Innocent until proven guilty.” Shane raised one eyebrow at his uncle.

  “Innocent or not, I’m going to talk to him.” I loaded a plate with yesterday’s muffins and headed up the stairs.

  I knocked on the door of Ian’s room. There was no answer, so I knocked louder.

  “Come in.” It was more of a grunt than actual words. I pushed the door open.

  The bed was a mess. Even the fitted sheet had come loose and tangled with the blankets. The pillows were flat and lumpy, as though he’d used them as punching bags. Ian was pacing back and forth in the space between the door and the bed. He was shirtless, and his wings were completely visible. The muscles in his shoulders were tense. He rounded on me and stopped when he saw the tray.

  “I brought you breakfast,” I said.

  He nodded.

  “I also just watched the news.” No point dancing around it.

  He looked at me and didn’t smile. “I did it, in case you were wondering.” There was bitterness in his voice, and anger. Most of it seemed directed at himself.

  I kept the tray from shaking, but it was hard. I walked in, set it down on the dresser and opened my mouth and closed it again.

  “I had reason.”

  I couldn’t judge him. He wasn’t the only person in the room who’d taken a life. But the why of it mattered. “What kind of reason?”

  “They were sent to kill me. That enough for you?” He bit off the words, and I had to wonder if it was enough for him. He was losing control of his mental walls, and spikes of regret-soaked memory leaked through. Blood on his hands, tainted water in a bathtub, whisky in a glass, no ice. He ran his hand unconsciously over the tattoo of Emily’s name.

  “Who was she?” I asked softly.

  “Just a girl.” He looked away.

  “I mean, who was she to you?”

  He didn’t answer at first. He seemed to be searching for something to occupy his hands, and he finally settled on undoing the ties of his duffel bag and pulling out clothes. Jeans and dark T-shirts, athletic socks, a water bottle. “Doesn’t matter. Not anymore.” He stared at his socks as though they were priceless paintings.

  “All right,” I said, and left him in peace. I guess everyone was allowed to have secrets.

  * * *

  Shane wasn’t as moved by Ian’s situation as I was.

  “Territory or no territory, if he causes trouble here, I’m hauling his ass to Biloxi myself.”

  “I hope Susannah has some kind of plan. I mean—he can’t stay here forever.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if that is her plan.” Shane muttered. “We’ll deal with it later. I have an idea how to get Diana out.”

  “Does it involve me hurting anyone?” I’d lain awake half the night thinking about what we’d seen. I didn’t see how we’d be able to get within ten yards of the house without triggering security.

  “Right,” Shane said, watching my thoughts. “But what if we’re not storming the castle—what if we’re clients?”

  “You saw that envelope he gave her.” Buddy must have passed over a good five grand in cash, if the thickness of the package was any indication. “We don’t have that kind of money.”

  “Maybe not. But we know where to get it.”

  Chapter Seven

  “How much is out there?” Shane sent. It was easier to mindspeak than yell over the roar of the two-stroke motor and the rush of water against the sides of the little powerboat.

  “I have no idea.” The last time I’d been to the Tooleys’ fishing camp, I’d been fighting for my life, and once that was taken care of, the only thing I’d thought about was fighting for Shane’s. I hadn’t stopped to count Ryan Tooley’s dirty money.

  He’d gotten it from the flock of faithful people he’d deceived into thinking he was working miracles. Offerings. The church he’d used had been abandoned a long time ago, and we’d run his business partner and front man o
ut of the state. There was no way to track the original owners of all this cash, no way to make it right.

  “I guess it’s technically Janine’s, now.” Shane thought of her cramped, dirty apartment.

  Regret swamped me. I knew how difficult her finances were—this money could have helped. “When this is over,” I said, “we’ll find a way to get it to her.” It was too late to save her house, but maybe it wasn’t too late to save her.

  Shane eased the boat into a turn in the Amite River. We’d just left Lake Maurepas behind, and the way was still wide. It was a gorgeous day for a ride, all blue sky and glass-smooth water. The banks were lush and green with palmetto plants and blackberry bushes, cypress and tupelo. We passed a group of kids out waterskiing and had to slow down for a fisherman taking advantage of a fallen log against the bank. Shane waved to him in apology for the wake, and he waved back and returned to his line.

  The first camps showed up at the turn to Blue Sand River, only a few of them, some long abandoned to rot. Of the ones that were still in good repair, only one had a boat tied to the dock.

  “After the next bend, I think.” I’d only been to the Tooleys’ camp a handful of times, and half of them, I’d teleported. I began to fear I wouldn’t be able to find it, but we went through the next turn and I saw it. A weathered white camp on tall stilts, surrounded by swampland in a turn of the river.

  “There.”

  It had never been in good repair, but the past months of neglect had sent it over the edge. One of the planks that formed the low dock had broken, and at least half of the paint had curled off, leaving the exposed wood open to wet and rot. I stopped worrying about whether the cash was still there and started worrying whether the building would support us while we looked for it.

  Shane bumped the throttle down to idle and took the boat around back. As we approached what remained of the dock, I caught sight of the swamp stretching out behind the camp and went still.