Immortal

by ML Guida

  She swiveled around in her chair and pulled back the curtain to the window. “I don’t see anybody.”

  He laughed. “They won’t jump out of the bushes, but they’re there. Watching.”

  She dropped the curtain and turned around. “You didn’t answer my question. What do you want?”

  He stopped smiling. He held her intense gaze. “I need to know more about your dreams.”

  Her eyebrows knotted tight. “Why?”

  “If I don’t, more people will die.”

  She studied him, but kept her jaw tight. She didn’t trust him, but he needed her to trust him, before Blade killed again.

  “I’m psychic,” he blurted. Now why the hell did he say that? Lightning flashed outside. An electric charged filled the room. The tiny hairs on Scythe’s arm stood at attention. Zeus, didn’t Michael have another angel to nag?

  Heather jumped in her seat. “God, that was close, too close.” Strands of her hair stood straight up as if someone had rubbed a balloon on her head.

  “You shouldn’t use the Lord’s name in vain. He doesn’t like that.” He frowned. She shouldn’t have been able to feel Michael’s reprimand on him. Strange, only his angel mate would feel it. He didn’t have time to dwell on this.

  She rolled her eyes. “Did you used to be a preacher or something?”

  “No, Hardly.” Just wanting to protect your cute little ass.

  Ka-Boom Ka-Boom Ka-Boom

  Scythe winced at the loud thunder. “Gonna burn down the house, Michael?”

  “What did you say? Who’s Michael?”

  “A friend of mine.” For once, thunder didn’t rumble. So, the Archangel considered him a friend?

  Heather looked at him like he was goofier than a three-dollar bill.

  “Look, I know what it’s like to see things and have people not believe you.” That was true. How many times had he shown people their funerals if they didn’t change their behavior only to have the fools ignore his warning? It was so damn frustrating.

  Heather folded her arms across the chest and leaned onto the desk. “You can see into the future?”

  He shrugged. “Mostly. Yeah, I can.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “So, do you think you will get this job?”

  Her soft voice didn’t fool him. She was walking him into a trap.

  He looked into the sexy minx’s doe eyes. “Actually, I am.”

  “Well, Mr. Psychic, your powers are wrong. You’re not.”

  Scythe rubbed his chin. Triumph reflected in her eyes and her lips turned into a gotcha smile, but he played his ace. “You’re wrong. You will give me the job, because I can prove your sister’s not psychotic.”

  Chapter 4

  Not believing the outlandish boast, Heather forgot to breathe. Her heart beat quicker and quicker. Scythe might as well as have body slammed her to the hardwood floor and smacked the wind out of her. When she tried to form a sentence, her words were jumbled in her throat. She cleared her throat. “How can you say such a thing? You don’t even know what really happened.”

  “Yeah, I do. I know your sister’s not a killer.”

  His arrogant stance and voice made her want to climb over the desk and slap the smirk off his face, but what if he could prove Rosemary was innocent? So far, she wasn’t one page closer to clearing her sister’s name.

  She stared at Rosemary’s picture on her desk. They had taken a day trip to Frisco, Colorado, then hiked up to Rainbow Lake. Rosemary sat on a large boulder next to the still lake. The willows, aspens, and pines made her look exotic. She was smiling, and it was one of the few pictures Heather had with her sister smiling. Rosemary only gave smiles to people she considered family. Heather hadn’t been in that circle for a long, long, long time. Heather wiped a sneaky tear. Had it been only last month they went to the mountains?

  She glanced back up at Scythe. “Tell me exactly how you can do this?”

  “First, tell me about your dreams.”

  “What do—”

  “Your dreams are key in proving your sister’s innocence.”

  His silver eyes glowed. Chills raced up and down her back, and she shivered. Every hair on her body seemed to stand on edge. There was something more about him. He wasn’t just a psychic. She’d met plenty of psychics and none made her feel like she had to pour out her heart. No, not that she had to; she wanted to.

  “The first one happened a week ago.”

  Her voice didn’t sound like hers. It was monotone as if some kind of power drew out the words hidden deep inside her.

  “I dreamed of Jessy Malcolm, but she wasn’t at Serenity House. I was working here. I always work late. The door slowly opens and this mysterious man walks into my office.”

  Her voice trails and the same fear seeped into her heart.

  “What does he look like?”

  Heather moistened her lips and held her shaking hands. “He’s tall. Really tall. He had long hair. It’s braided and hung over his left side. He’s wearing a black leather jacket with no shirt.” She frowned. “Something moves on his naked chest. It can’t be true.”

  “What can’t be true?”

  “The tattoo moves as if the cobra is alive. But tattoos can’t move. How can it move?”

  “Heather?”

  She blinked. “I’m sorry.”

  “What happened next?”

  “His aura is black. Evil emits from his red eyes, and I want to run away screaming.” She studied Scythe with his black hair, high cheekbones, and broad shoulders. “You look like him, but your aura’s different. It’s white and goodness shimmers from yours.”

  Scythe’s cheek twitched, but he said nothing. His eyes turned darker. Her heart pounded fear erratically through her veins. Why had she said such a stupid thing? She needed to stop talking, but she couldn’t stop as if compelled.

  “The man approaches me. He’ll kill me. I tried to scream, but I can’t.”

  “Does he hurt you?”

  She shook her head. “No. He gives me a cold smile that would freeze the sun. He walks around the desk and grabs my hand. His is so icy I can’t breathe. Suddenly, we’re not in my office and we’re at the mall parking lot. Jessy is sitting in her car smoking, but the smoke isn’t white. It’s red.”

  “Did you smell an odor?”

  She frowned. “I do. It smells metallic.”

  “Like dried blood?”

  “Yes. How could smoking a cigarette smell like blood?”

  He waved his hand. “Never mind. Then what happened?”

  She didn’t want to remember, wanted to block it out, but her mouth wouldn’t obey her brain. “The man laughs, a haunting laugh that would scare a serial killer. I want to yell at Jessy to stop, because her aura changes from red to black. She had been so strong at Serenity House, a real leader, that’s why her aura had been red.” Chills climbed up her spine. “Black meant something bad was going to happen. Jessy was going to...die.”

  “Tell me what a happened.”

  “Jessy put the pipe on the passenger seat. Her green eyes changed to dark red. Her lips turned up into a demonic smile. She opened the glove compartment and pulled out a butcher knife. Two teenage girls were walking toward the Toyota parked next to Jessy’s Ford. Jessy opened her door and raised the knife. ‘No,’ I scream, but no sound comes out. The girls screamed and turned to run, but Jessy’s faster. She lunged at the closet girl...And...and…and stabs her. She...she...wouldn’t stop.”

  She tried to blink back tears, but they wouldn’t be denied. Her vision blurred. Strong arms wrapped around her and held her close. She rested her head against a warm chest.

  “I’m sorry.”

  His husky voice rumbled and his steady beating heart calmed her spastic one. She relaxed against him and inhaled the smell of sandalwood that blocked out the stench of her dream. Peace filled her. For the first time since Rosemary died, a wealth of comfort washed over her. She didn’t have to pretend everything was okay or have to be strong. She could let loose.<
br />
  He tightened his hold. She closed her eyes, her cheeks were wet, and she clutched his shirt. “Blood. There was so much. Blood drenched Jessy’s clothes and hair. She stopped. Her eyes changed back to green. Pure horror flashed in her eyes and she shrieked. I’d never heard such a sound.”

  It was more animal than human. Police were running out of the mall toward her, guns aimed. Before they reached her, she slashed her own throat. The man whirled me around and dug his fingers into my arms. He said...he said...this was only the beginning. He showed me Mark, then...Rosemary.”

  She sobbed, drenching his shirt, then hiccuped again and again, gulping for breath, as if the nightmare slowly squeezed her windpipe shut.

  “Be healed.”

  The darkness gripping her fled, and the compulsion left her. The dream faded. Scythe stroked her hair and his warm breath chased away the ice clutching her trembling body. She sank against him.

  It seemed like hours he cradled her against his chest. She glanced at Rosemary’s picture and guilt choked her. “It’s my fault Rosemary’s dead.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  She looked up at him. “You don’t understand. I didn’t tell her how much I loved her. I didn’t say good-bye.”

  He brushed her wet cheek. “She loved you, you know.” His soft voice stilled her breath.

  She froze. What was she doing? She was pouring her heart out to a man she barely knew. She pushed out of his arms. “How do you know this? You didn’t even know her.”

  “True.”

  His aura was pink, meaning he was sincere.

  He headed back to the chair. “My mistake.”

  Goosebumps broke out on her arms where only moments before there had been warmth. She rubbed her arms and regretted her foolishness. Trying to forget his memorable touch, she asked, “I told you my dreams. So how can you prove her innocence?”

  He put his hands on the back of the chair. “By finding the dream man who sold your sister the drug.”

  She picked up a tissue and dabbed her eyes. “He doesn’t exist.”

  “You’re wrong. He’s real and dangerous, very dangerous.”

  Dread lodged in her throat. She thought of the night Rosemary died and seeing him in the alley. It hadn’t been a dream. It had been real, all too real. “How?”

  “First, you must hire me.”

  She tossed the tissue into the basket. “You’re acting like I have no choice?”

  “If you want to find your sister’s killer, you don’t.” He released the chair and stood.

  His stance made the office look smaller, but she glared and pushed her shoulders back. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m the only one who believes the man exists and knows you’re not lying.” He walked around the desk and crowded her against the wall, but didn’t touch her. He didn’t have to. If she tried to escape, he could easily overtake her. How could he be so comforting one minute then the next aggravating?

  He lifted her stiff chin. “If you want to handle the police by yourself, be my guest.”

  He rubbed her cheek with his thumb, sending warmth through her.

  “I can handle them myself. Thank you.”

  He released her. “Maybe you need some convincing.”

  His aura beamed clear. She’d never seen such a luminous light. The tension bound in her neck lessened. He snapped his fingers.

  The light vanished along with the warmth.

  Scythe’s silver eyes swirled, and for a second, a shimmering river flickered inside his pupils.

  Someone knocked timidly on the door. “Heather?”

  She blinked. Stephanie’s scared voice broke the spell. The river in his eyes vanished. Was she going crazy? Great. Next, Scythe would sprout wings and fly away, and she’d be ready for a nice long stay at West Pines Psychiatric Inpatient Unit.

  “I’m coming, Stephanie.” She hurried to her, afraid Scythe would do something else to make her think she was losing her mind.

  Heather opened the door. Stephanie stood there, wringing her hands. She glanced over her shoulder.

  “There are two cops here to talk to you.”

  Hewitt and Mason watched her warily from the waiting area. She sighed. She didn’t want to be interrogated by good cop bad cop again. She’d rather Scythe hold her and ease her fears.

  “Heather.” Scythe’s husky voice sent a shiver down her spine.

  She turned.

  Scythe tossed a business card onto her desk. “Call me, if you change your mind.” He edged past her squeezing between the doorway and forcing a frightened Stephanie to back up. He flashed his gaze over the detectives and smirked. When he walked out the door, loneliness flooded Heather. She wanted to call out for him to stay, but her damn pride clamped her mouth shut.

  Jekyll and Hyde brushed Stephanie aside as they walked into Heather’s office as if they had a right to be there. Mason closed the door on Stephanie’s worried face.

  Heather frowned. “What are you doing?”

  Mason gave her a hard stare. “Don’t make this harder on yourself, Ms. Bowen. We want to ask you questions about your so-called visions.”

  Sweat trickled down her back, and fear squeezed her lungs. She couldn’t breathe.

  Calm down.

  She had done nothing wrong, so why was she afraid? She was on a runaway car on a roller coaster and couldn’t get off. She wished he was here. Thanks to her stubbornness, she had to face these two vultures by herself.

  She walked past Mason and picked up Scythe’s card lying on her desk and rubbed her trembling fingers over it. The runaway ride slowed down. Tingles rushed over her and she swore she could feel his arm around her shoulders, cradling her against his massive strength. She swore his looming presence was behind her giving her reassurance.

  She met Hewitt’s hostile gaze. “What is it you want?”

  Hewitt scanned her office as if he was memorizing every canny, every picture, every paper, looking for something sinister. He picked up a picture with her and Rosemary when they were kids.

  She tensed, but resisted the temptation to tell him not to touch her things.

  He put the picture down. “I’m afraid, Ms. Bowen, there have been additional developments in the case.”

  She’d been watching re-runs on television the other night and Starsky and Hutch, two 1970s detectives, had been on. These two reminded her of them, and they were breathing down her neck. She stared at Hewitt. The light reflected off his shiny white egg head and his shabby gold jacket seemed more thread worn. The star of the show drove a 1974 red Grand Torino, but the thought of Hewitt behind the wheel forced her to smother a laugh.

  Hewitt frowned. “Do you find this amusing?”

  She stifled another smirk. “No.” She pressed her lips together and looked down to suppress another grin. Why did she think this was so funny?

  She took a deep breath; the laughter dying in her throat and met her foes’ incriminating stares.

  “Ms. Bowen.”

  Hewitt’s voice was grave. Heather didn’t like the tone and sank into her chair.

  He sat opposite her in the seat Scythe had occupied. She clutched Scythe’s card tightly, wishing for the trillionth time he were there.

  “We had someone come forward about Serenity House.”

  His soft voice stole her breath, and the walls closed in on her.

  She cleared her dry throat. “Who was it?”

  Mason folded his arms. “We’re not at liberty to say.”

  Hewitt folded his hands and put them on her desk. “Our sources say your so-called dreams were accurate to the last details of the murder.”

  She bristled. God, she was so sick of people thinking she was a charlatan. “What do you mean so-called dreams?”

  Mason came along the other side of her desk. He glared. “No dreams are that accurate.”

  “Mine are.” She wrinkled her nose at his overpowering cologne, but she detected something else underneath it. Something foul.

  “Uh-huh.”


  She refused to debate with Mason and turned to Hewitt. “And?”

  Hewitt crossed his leg over his knee. “I’m not a big fan of psychics.”

  Mason snorted like a raging bull. She kept waiting for him to paw his feet and shake his head back and forth.

  Hewitt scowled and lifted his hand as if to warn the bull to stay in his pen. “But I’m at a dead end with these murders. Tell me what you know.”

  “Meaning?” Wariness crept into Heather’s voice.

  “Meaning.” Hewitt tapped one finger repeatedly on her desk. “I want to know who the hell the guy is in your dreams.”

  She swallowed. He’d been devilishly handsome, but he hadn’t made her hot. When he appeared, terror seeped into her bones. No one had believed her, not even Rosemary, but if she told them what he’d look like, they’d accuse her of being wrapped up in a dark fantasy.

  She rubbed her sweating forehead. “I don’t know who he is.”

  “You gave us a description at your sister’s crime scene,” Hewitt said.

  “I know what I told you, but you didn’t think I was telling the truth then, and you don’t think I’m telling the truth now. I can tell by your aura.”

  His bushy eyebrows knotted together. “My aura?”

  “It’s supposedly a light that emanates from your body,” Mason said. “It detects your mood.” She didn’t need to hear the sarcasm in his voice, since his muddy forest green aura shouted his resentment.

  Disbelief flickered in Hewitt’s eyes. “Oh, really? Like a mood ring?”

  Heather wasn’t going to debate.

  “Ms. Bowen,” he said, “could you go back again on the description of the man?”

  He was trying to trip her up, but if she didn’t say something, she’d end up back in the suffocating interview room at the police station. “Like I told you, he was tall. Probably over six feet. He had long black hair that he braided and had a tattoo of a cobra on his chest.”

  Hewitt flipped through his little black notebook, then nodded to Mason.

  She clutched Scythe’s card, hoping he’d walk through the door. She couldn’t get over how much Scythe and the man looked alike. The nightmare man had the same high cheekbones, same colored hair, and the same chiseled body as Scythe, but their eyes were different—silver versus red, good versus evil. She wanted to run away screaming when the red-eyed man appeared, but with Scythe, she wanted him to hold her.