Broken Souls (Primani Book 4)

by Laurie Olerich

  Seriously, babe? He’s got dreads for crying out loud.

  Dreads, schmeads. He’s still smokin’. Did you see his eyes?

  Ask her about it when she wakes up. You’re wasting time.

  Yeah, yeah, no need to get snippy. Moving on, she swept backwards through time, looking for clues to the lingering fear and pain that surrounded Rori’s soul. Rori had lived in no fewer than five houses before she finished high school. These memories were faded, fuzzy, full of holes, filled with impressions of anger, conflict, and pain. The ragged memories scratched like brambles as she wove through them. They clung to her, tearing at her, drawing blood.

  Foster homes. Damn. Killian’s tone was sympathetic with an undercurrent of anger. He’d never admit it, but he had a soft spot for lost puppies too.

  Damn it, Killian! No one should have to live without someone to love them! Her empath powers were happily soaking up the negative. Her heart was breaking for this young woman who had been so screwed already and now had to deal with a shitload of pain that was coming straight at her.

  Something wasn’t quite right. Mentally tapping her fingers together, she paused to regroup. Okay, she didn’t see anything helpful to explain the visions. The point of this drill was to find some clue to her psychic powers. So far, all they’d found was a young woman’s pain-filled past. That didn’t prove Killian’s theory. She carefully backed out, taking in all of the impressions she could along the way. More worry, more sadness… more fear. She hadn’t seen any recent memories that should make her afraid. Where was the fear coming from? It seemed to be unconscious, an underlying part of her personality, deep inside of her heart, instinctive. What caused it? Was she even aware of it? Had Rori suppressed something that Mica missed?

  Slipping ahead to the day they found her unconscious in the cemetery… now that’s weird. She tilted her head for a better angle. Huh. Odd. The perspective was off… perpendicular to the ground… she was staring down at her body. She’d been disoriented. The memory was indistinct even inside Rori’s own mind--mostly sensations, impressions of panic, of fear, of overwhelming despair.

  What the hell?

  Keep going, babe.

  But--

  Go.

  She came to an odd shimmer, like a mirage, blocking her view. Nice try. Get out of my way, wall. I’m a pro--you’re not keeping me out. Pushing through the wavering light, she popped up in a field. Where the hell am I? What memory is this? Studying the details, she came to the conclusion at the same time Killian did.

  Woodstock.

  1969.

  Bingo!

  Before either could say another word, they found themselves in a cavernous room with huge bare windows streaked by moonlight. The rest of the space was dark with shadows. Squinting to see better, she edged closer to the window just as a figure slid into the frame. The image started to crack apart just as she caught a glimpse of wings. They unfurled, stretching upward even as a body shifted to reveal a massive torso and the back of a head. The creature looked over its shoulder at her, the sound of laughter rumbling from its chest.

  Rori suddenly stiffened, crying out with fear. In the deep recesses of her mind, she begged, “Leave me alone!”

  The creature laughed even harder before yelling, “Get out!”

  Stunned, Mica watched in horror as a solid black wall came crashing down just in front of her. Stumbling backwards, she bolted until she was completely free of Rori’s mind. Shaking hard, she panted for air even as Killian rematerialized next to her. Wrapping his hand around her rune, he pumped his saol into her. Her breathing calmed immediately, and her heartbeat slowed to match the steady rhythm of his.

  “I’ve got you. Are you okay? Anything hurt?”

  Ignoring the nausea that was making her mouth water, Mica closed her eyes and answered, “I’m fine now. Really. Just a little freaked out. That was bizarre.”

  “Yeah, and not a good sign either.” He’d seen those wings before. Rori was more screwed than they thought. This was getting worse and worse. How the fuck did she get sucked into this? Who was she, really?

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  Rori woke to the sound of jackhammers destroying the street below them. At least that’s how it sounded. She cracked her eyelids a hair to find a tiny hint of sunlight sneaking through the blinds. She dragged the sheet over her face in self-defense. The jackhammers continued.

  “Good morning.” Mica’s face and a glass of water popped into the doorway. “Can I come in? I’ll make you feel better. Promise.”

  Shoving her face into the pillow, she mumbled, “Sure, why not? This is your fault.”

  Apparently taking that as an invitation to come in, Mica slipped inside bearing gifts. “I brought you some aspirin. Take them and go back to sleep. You’ll feel better in a few hours.”

  She did as ordered and crashed.

  Feeling more than a little idiotic, Dec tiptoed inside Rori’s room. The last thing he wanted to do was wake her up. Mica and Killian’s trip down her Memory Lane had knocked her out for the last 12 hours. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried. Edging closer to the bed, he studied her face. She looked okay. No dark circles. No tension. Her expression was calm. No nightmares? He didn’t want her to think he was sneaking around like some kind of perv. It hurt that she still didn’t trust him. She said she did, but he knew those words didn’t go soul deep. She seemed to want to trust him; that was a start. One day, he’d figure out where her fortress came from. When he did, he’d break down those walls. One at a time. She deserved to live, really live, the life she’d been given. He could give that to her. If she’d let him…

  Pressing his palm to her cheek, he leaned in and kissed her, feather light and hardly a touch to her mouth. She turned into his touch and sighed, breath warming his skin.

  “Will you dream of me, Rori?” he murmured near the delicate curve of her ear. She was beautiful and worthy. Why didn’t she know that? With a last long look, he moved to the living room.

  Mica spotted him first. “Really, Dec? You know we can see everything on your face, right?” She squeezed him in a hug, scolding, “I had no idea you and Rori were getting so close. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  That was a surprise. “We’re not. What did you see? Does she like me?”

  She just laughed and said, “You’re such a dork! Of course she does. She’s got the memory of your you-know-what on friggin’ speed dial! Apparently you made an impression on her, and she’s dying to take you for a test drive.” She shrugged, adding, “Just sayin’.”

  Killian stepped between them with one hand raised to stop the bantering. “Okay, whatever, she’s got the hots for you. Good job, stud! The bigger issue is still our main priority, right? Unless you’re just trying to get laid and don’t care about her problems?”

  “Don’t be a dick! I’m trying to help her. I am. But I’ve got to admit, she’s twisting my guts in a knot right now. I need to stay about 1,000 feet away from her, but that’s not gonna happen. I don’t have that kind of control.”

  Mica winked at her husband and offered some advice. “She’s a damsel, and you love to be the hero. Bottom line? You’re two consenting adults. Why not just take it a step at a time and see what happens? You don’t have to get serious, you know. Go out. Play. Show her a good time. Take her to see the city. Give her some happy memories, sweetie. She could use them to balance the darkness in her mind.”

  Killian smirked and commented, “She’s playing matchmaker again. Don’t let her fool you. Now can we get back to work? There’s a lot to talk about, and then we’ve got to go. Abby’s supposed to pick up the kids from Dani. That ought to be fun.”

  “What happened?”

  Mica shot Killian a fierce glare and said, “Killian’s overexaggerating. Nothing’s happened. Abby and Dani had an argument a few weeks after you left. No big deal.”

  “And?”

  “And what? Nothing. Dani is acting like you don’t exist, and Abby’s ready to
choke the shit out of you. But hey, none of this is new.” Mica laughed at the look on his face. “It’s the way they always act when you’re not around.”

  Jesus. This was a cluster.

  “I never wanted to hurt Abby, Mica. You know that, right? I really do like her.”

  “Uh-huh. Yeah, I know you’ve done everything humanly possible to keep her out of your pants. Guess that one little taste is addictive. She’s not over you.”

  Aaaannd, it’s getting worse.

  Killian crossed his arms and shook his head, a smile threatening to break out. Dec reddened and fixed him with a hard look.

  “For the last time, nothing happened that night. I swear!”

  “Well, Dani tells me she walked in on you and Abby naked in bed. Abby tells me she remembers kissing you and pulling off your boxers…” She let the sentence hang before bursting into giggles.

  Grinding his teeth, he managed, “We didn’t have sex. I, um, had to put her to sleep, though. She was… well, she didn’t want to take no for an answer.” He ran his hands through his hair. Not one of his shining moments. “It’d been awhile… I, um, almost didn’t stop it. So I dropped us both into sleep.”

  “You knocked yourself out?”

  “Well, yeah. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I was desperate.”

  His audience burst into laughter and then tears. Once laughter finally dissolved into snorts and chuckles, Killian wheezed, “To hear Abby talk, she had you every which way but upside down. Guess she’s got a good imagination. Reminds me of her sister.”

  That got another snort of amusement out of Mica. “I don’t hear you complaining.”

  Rolling his eyes to the back of his head, he grabbed hold of some patience and ground out, “I’m not sleeping with Dani or Abby. Ever. Can we please talk about Rori?”

  After 20 minutes of explanation, Dec sat back, weaving his guitar pick over and under his fingers. He’d snatched it out of thin air at a Metallica concert back in ’93. It was his most prized possession next to his Burton snowboard, and his soul, of course. The concert had led to one hell of an after party… the pick was a reminder. He was sentimental about it… whatever. It was his thing.

  “Soooo... I get it. Not premonitions at all. Retrocognition. She’s seeing snatches of the past… no wonder she can’t save anyone. They’re already dead. This must mean something to us. Why would she wander onto my radar if she wasn’t supposed to help me?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it, Dec? You said you connected to her more than once. Anything pop out at you? Recognize anything? Anyone?” Killian was not letting this go.

  Dec turned thoughtful for a few minutes, all thoughts on Rori and the odd connection they’d shared. That nightmare wasn’t familiar, but… At the cemetery, he’d caught a peek into her vision… Woodstock. 1969.

  The boy!

  Chapter 9: Love the One You’re with

  SIX HOTDOGS WERE GONE. It was impossible. Rori gaped at Dec as he smeared mustard on number seven.

  As he jammed the second half of the dog into his mouth, he reached for her can of Coke. Swallowing visibly, he swigged the drink, burped with a surprising amount of restraint, and grinned at her. “What? Am I doing it wrong? Haven’t you seen a man eat a hotdog before?”

  “You are not a man. You are some kind of hotdog-eating god. No human could possibly eat that many in one sitting.” She smoothed her hands over the hard muscles of his torso. There was absolutely no give to him. He was rock hard. Her helpful imagination provided all the detail of ridged muscles, taut golden skin, and a fine, silky, happy trail. It was sexy as hell. She loved her imagination. “I have no idea where you put them.”

  Easing back, he patted his stomach. “The usual place.” Sprawling more comfortably, he rested his elbows on the step behind him and gazed up at the skyscrapers. Seconds ticked by until he finally said, “We should talk.”

  Uh-oh. Here it comes. Her stomach threatened to evict the hotdog she’d just happily eaten. His tone scared her. He was suddenly more serious than he’d been all morning. He’d played tour guide today, handling her gently, carefully, playfully. She wasn’t stupid. She knew he was purposely keeping things light. His words had been upbeat, but every now and then his gaze rested on her… studying her? No, more like trying to sense her mood. He was gauging her readiness for this convo. Closing her eyes and wishing it away just wasn’t going to work. She was a big girl. She could handle the truth, no matter how horrible it was. She already knew she was useless. What kind of friggin’ psychic has visions they can’t do anything about? What was the point in having them if not to warn people? Father Joseph was right about her. She was cursed. Useless.

  Dec wore black Oakley sunglasses that completely buried his eyes. His wearing the glasses seemed like a wall going up between them. Was he protecting himself, or her? Crap. Bad news doesn’t get better with waiting… kinda like leaving sushi on the counter…

  Seeming to sense her reluctance, he tugged her closer to his side. His beautiful mouth quirked up on one side, and he removed the sunglasses. Those heavenly blue eyes looked into hers and seemed to find her soul. Suddenly unnerved by the notion, she lowered her eyes, but kept her hand in his.

  “Go ahead. Tell me what Mica and Killian told you. I’m sure it’s nothing good.”

  Dec pursed his lips and chose his words carefully. He had what he thought was good news for her and had been waiting for the right time to spill it. Her forlorn expression tugged at his heartstrings, though. Gently stroking her wrist, he sent a wee bit of his saol to calm her racing thoughts. Not enough to knock her out; just a little to relax her so she’d hear him. Really hear him. The soft vibration pulsed between them. Letting her head tip back, she rolled it around in a stretch before releasing a long sigh.

  Leaning closer, he slid his free hand into the glorious silk of her hair, marveling at the colors as the strands poured through his fingers. He did it again, saying, “Relax, sweetheart. It’s okay now.”

  Too much juice. Easing up a bit, he watched her face intently for the second her awareness came back into focus.

  “I’m cold. Are you cold?” She shivered before wrapping her arms around herself.

  “Come over here; I’ll keep you warm.” He spread his legs open so she could sit between them with her back to his chest. With his arms wrapped around her, he held her more tightly than strictly necessary. But she felt good; better than good. They were an exact fit. He rested his cheek against the top of her head and closed his eyes.

  Bad idea, this. He shouldn’t have brought her this close to him. His body was screaming ‘hallelujah,’ and his head was yelling ‘abort, abort!’

  Too late. They needed to talk, and this was going to help her relax. He’d just ignore his head and his body. For now, anyway.

  “How long have you been having visions?”

  “Years. I don’t know… they started when I was… uh, maybe 13? My memory’s a little fuzzy before that so I’m not sure.”

  Rubbing her arms, he said, “Relax. I have good news for you.”

  She tried to swing around, but he tightened his arms until she relaxed again. “What do you mean ‘good news’? I’m a useless psychic. How can that be anything but bad?”

  Stifling the growl in his throat, he ground out, “You’re not useless! Damn it! Who told you that?”

  Long silence. Rori was shutting down again. When she started to withdraw, he turned her to face him. He wanted to kill the person who put that pain in her eyes.

  “Rori? Talk to me. Please.”

  Her mouth quivered once before she bit her lower lip and lifted her chin. “Never you mind, Dr. Phil. That’s not important. Just tell me the verdict.”

  Whoa! Okaaay… She made his head spin.

  “Have you ever heard of retrocognition?” She shook her head, looking more confused than before so he added, “You see snatches of past events. It’s the opposite of precognition. Precognition allows you to see events before they happen. You’r
e seeing things after the fact.” More firmly, he said, “You couldn’t help those people, Rori. They’re already dead. It’s not your fault. Ever.”

  Another long silence stretched as she stared first at him, then at the ground in front of her. Endless minutes passed before she asked, “When did you die?”

  Clutching at his arm, she asked again, voice shrill with fear, “Tell me! I saw you die! I saw your neck broken…” Her voice cracked, ending in a whispered, “I saw you… How are you here if you’re dead?”

  Ah, hell. His turn to clam up. He couldn’t tell her. Couldn’t without her finding out the truth. That wasn’t allowed.

  She searched his eyes for the truth before starting to shake. Gathering her close, he tucked her face into his shoulder while she broke down and sobbed in his arms. Years of fear, pain, and shame poured out of her. She shook so hard he was afraid she’d bruise herself.

  “It’s okay, darlin’. Cry it all out. It’s going to be all right now.”

  She needed to cry. She needed to let the pain out. He didn’t need to be Primani to understand it. The man he used to be knew it… knew her needs. He let her weep, rubbing her back, murmuring those little words of comfort so she’d know he was there for her.

  Time seemed to stop as they sat on those concrete steps. The sun disappeared behind heavy clouds, sending them into chilly shadows. People walked up and down the steps, circling around them like a boulder in the middle of a river. Probably he should move them. Probably he should tell her it was time to leave. Probably he should… damn. He had no idea what he should do just then. He held this amazing woman in his arms, listening to pain and sorrow pour out, and for the life of him, he had no idea what to do next.