Gypsy Cradle: a psychic paranormal thriller (The Gypsy Medium Series Book 2)

by Andrea Drew

  “Hey, calm down, what do you think this is? I helped you. You were paralytic, completely pissed, about to collapse. I dragged you out of the bar, got you in a cab and brought you home. You didn’t seem to mind at the time,” he added, eyes wide.

  “I was off my face, you fucking parasite!” Rage boiled and Ryan rocked back on his feet, waiting for the opportunity to knock Brenton into oblivion. He however, simply walked away.

  Ryan clenched his fists as his chest burned, the rush blinding him. He headed back to the bedroom to find his clothes. He needed to get out of here, back to Christie. Had he really betrayed Christie? If so, why now? They’d been together a long time. He didn’t remember the sex, nor did he remember consenting. Did he enjoy it? Given the raging hangover, he doubted it. If he did go along with it, what did that mean? Did he prefer men? Women? Hell, it confused him.

  Sure, he might have got drunk in a bar, ridiculously drunk, which was damn stupid in itself. However, going home to sleep with a man? Hell, he wasn’t that way inclined drunk or sober. Did he have it in him to risk his relationship with Christie and possibly his career for a night of drinking and sex with a random stranger? No, he didn’t, he was sure of it. So how did he end up here?

  He must have been completely wasted.

  Reaching the bedroom, Ryan searched for his clothes, which he found in a crumpled pile at the bottom of the bed. Dressing in a hurry, he scanned the room for his keys, wallet and phone. Where did he leave his car?

  Think, Ryan, think.

  The furious drive from Gypsy’s place came back to him, how he’d driven with no direction until he ended up at the bar. Roberto’s in Brunswick. He’d parked the car round the back. Shoving his feet into shoes, he wriggled his feet until they were in. He stormed back to the lounge room to find his stuff. He didn’t want to talk to the person in the kitchen. The situation was already a disaster; he didn’t want to make it worse by losing his temper and smashing someone’s face into a million pieces. He needed to get out of there, and fast.

  As Ryan began to lift cushions on the couch in a vain search for his keys, he felt Brenton’s presence behind him. Ryan turned and glared at him.

  “Looking for something?” The expression on the man’s face was guileless, without a trace of aggression.

  “Yeah, my fucking stuff. Keys, wallet, phone, where did you put it? I’m outta here.” Ryan’s hands were on his hips. Brenton was taller than him and bigger, but Ryan knew he could take him on and break a nose or knock him out if he had to. It would probably be the only way to keep this dickhead quiet.

  “I’ve got those, they’re safe.” Brenton wiped his hands on a tea towel and smiled without a hint of malice. Ryan, however, knew better.

  “Look, if you give me them now, I won’t say any more about this. I’ll keep quiet and won’t make a fuss. No need to press charges.” Ryan had found his confidence, certain of regaining his equilibrium and salvaging the situation.

  “Press charges? I didn’t kidnap you, if that’s what you’re thinking. You didn’t seem to mind at the time. I’ll never forget last night, ever.”

  Ryan took a step toward Brenton, pointing a finger at him. “Let me make this clear. I love my girlfriend. Last night never happened.” Ryan scowled “Why didn’t the taxi drop me home?”

  Brenton took a step closer. They were standing in the archway between the lounge and hallway, where the floor switched from carpet to tiles. In a heartbeat, Ryan had calculated how long it would take to get Brenton on the ground and crack his head open like a watermelon.

  “Actually, you were beyond speech at that point. I was about to check your wallet to get your address from your driver’s license, but after you vomited all over it I wasn’t so keen.” Brenton’s hands were by his side, his nose screwed up in disgust.

  Rage surged through Ryan. “I am not what you think, not what you want me to be. You and I did not happen, simple as that. I love my girlfriend, end of story. Give me my stuff. Don’t make me get a restraining order. The sooner I’m out of here, the better.”

  Brenton sighed with such force that his shoulders heaved. It wasn’t going to happen as he’d imagined. Did Ryan feel anything for him?

  He approached Ryan, one arm outstretched. “Look, I think there’s been a misunderstanding−“

  Ryan’s teeth clenched his muscles rigid and eyes popping. “Get my fucking wallet, keys and phone. Now.”

  “All right,” said Brenton quietly. He went to the kitchen and opened the top cupboard, which held the items. Returning to Ryan, whose face was turning from purple to red, he handed them over.

  “If you change your mind, you know where I am. I’ll be here, waiting.” Brenton’s voice was almost a whisper.

  Ryan snatched his things from Brenton’s outstretched hand.

  “And if I ever hear a word out of you, you’ll be sorry. Don’t think of that as a threat, it’s a fucking promise.” He stormed toward the front door, swung it open and slammed it behind him so loudly that it vibrated on its hinge.

  Chapter Six

  Saturday 19th January, 10.03pm

  Well, all right, I’ll give it a go, but only for Christie’s sake,” Connor said as I packed up the dishes after our far too eventful night. “How does it work?

  I dropped my tea towel on the bench and turned toward him, inches away from his sweet breath, and ran my hands down his arms. The blond hairs on his forearms were soft yet masculine.

  “Renee and I set a connection with touch,” I murmured, and his magnetic eyes locked onto mine. “We always hold hands. That cements the bond, and we take it from there. I’m hoping we can do the same and you can come with me when Isabella visits. How do you feel about cementing a bond?” My lips curled into a smile as his hands found their way to the back of my waist. The warmth spread from the small of my back to my shoulders and neck, and I shivered.

  Connor kissed me, his mouth wet and warm. My arms slid around his neck. After all this time, despite nearly a year of togetherness, he could still do it for me. It was always him, no one but him.

  His fingers brushed my cheek as he pulled away. “Let’s give it a try, then, and see where we end up.” His expression had relaxed—although the trenches under his eyes were dug deep, the tension seemed to be leaving him.

  “I’m going up.” I gazed at him, lust slowly transforming me, and I moved away slowly with a last touch of his hand before heading upstairs.

  I assessed my bedroom. Thankfully, most of the time I forgot that this room was the scene of two shootings and more than a bit of torture.

  It didn’t look the same. Before Christie and Ryan’s visit, I’d finished a mad flurry of tidying up which had spread to my bedroom. I’d picked some flowers out of the garden and they were sitting on the windowsill in a jug, the dark night behind them. My clothes were picked up and dumped in the laundry basket and the bed had been made for a change.

  The perfect scene for romance, and a journey into the unknown.

  In the bathroom, I showered quickly, cooling down from the warm weather and refreshing myself.

  I pulled back the blankets and groaned as I landed in the softness of my bed, relaxing as it molded to the contours of my body. I hoped Connor wouldn’t dawdle, and sure enough, before long I heard a creak on the stairs.

  He stood just inside the doorway, looking down at me, his face grave. He began unbuttoning his shirt and I settled in to watch. Watching Connor undress was one of life’s pleasures.

  “Gypsy, this isn’t going to make things any worse, is it?” His eyebrows moved closer together.

  “I don’t know how it can get any worse—other than something happening to Christie, that is. Unbelievably, that’s why I’ve stuck my neck out. I know what she means to you, and I couldn’t live with it on my conscience if any harm came to her.”

  “I know that.” Connor was down to his underwear and I struggled with distraction.

  The bedspread lifted as he slid in beside me. “I wonder if she’ll ever apprec
iate what we’re doing for her,” murmured Connor. As I lay on my side, the vibrations of his deep voice reached me.

  Connor draped one arm over my hip. “Does it matter that I’m a sentinel, not a psychic? I can block readings—the few times I did anything, anyway. A sentinel protects and guards, I don’t go looking to make contact.”

  His hair was damp, and I ran my fingers through it gently. “Necessity is the mother of all invention, honey. I’d never tracked a living person down using my powers before Aaron decided to hunt me down, but I did it. If Christie’s life is in danger, we can do it again.”

  As I kissed him softly, I became aware of a shadow, a presence in the far corner.

  Shit, Isabella has rotten timing. She could have at least waited an hour or two until our romantic interlude was over.

  “She’s here,” I whispered. Connor’s head lifted off the pillow, his neck corded and strained as he searched the room for her.

  “Take my hand,” I whispered to him. His eyes went round and he swallowed hard. As he brought a hand up and out of the coverings, I took it. “Come with me, Connor—quickly, now.”

  His fingers linked with mine, and I sat up in bed. I saw her standing patiently at the bottom left corner of the bed, face unsmiling. She looked to be eight, maybe nine years old, and her dark hair hung straight and heavy.

  −Isabella, I’m glad you’re here. I brought someone with me.

  −I see that. It’s been a while since I met a sentinel, Christie’s father.

  Connor’s face changed color. He surveyed the room until his eyes fixed on the spot where Isabella stood. He’d found her.

  His fingers were still intertwined with mine. His deep voice, nervous and unsure, rebounded through my mind.

  −Er…Isabella. How is Christie? Who is this murderer?

  −Don’t worry, she’s fine−for now. She’s freaked out, but that’s to be expected. Gypsy’s info really threw her. Give her time to make sense of it. Right now, she’s coping with Ryan. He’s disappeared.

  −Ryan? Is he the killer?

  −I don’t know yet, all I know is that someone close to her wants her out of the way. I’ve tried parting the curtain, but he hasn’t revealed himself yet. Soon though, soon. As soon as he reveals himself, I’ll be in touch. Find him and stop him.

  Connor had sat up on the bed now, muscles tensed in a way that revealed his every nerve on high alert.

  −Ryan wouldn’t do this, he wouldn’t. I’ve known him for years.

  −Like you knew Ian Robson? Isabella seemed harsh in her directness.

  The thick silence seemed to go on for a long time.

  −Point taken. Nevertheless, I don’t think Ryan is capable of this. I need to go to Christie and find Ryan. If I take some time off, I can protect her.

  −Not this time. Your paternity will become an issue, though.

  I cringed. Isabella had no boundaries, and said what she believed needed to be said. She didn’t sound like any nine-year-old I’d met before. I couldn’t be sure of Connor’s reaction; as usual, he gave away little. An instant later, he squeezed my hand and met my gaze. As I’d telepathically communicated nothing in the conversation, I wondered if my thoughts were automatically transmitted via the three-way link.

  −How? I’m not convinced I am her father…

  −You are, trust me on this. If she ends up in hospital and needs a blood transfusion or an organ transplant, be ready.

  −If I have anything to do with it, things won’t get that far.

  I hadn’t said much, I’d left most of that to Isabella but then I wanted Connor to see and hear her. I’d taken a back seat deliberately.

  −I know that. Right now, the best thing you can do is convince her to be on alert. That includes monitoring her food and drink.

  Connor flung back the bedcovers and was up and out of bed.

  With a snap, the connection was broken. Isabella didn’t move.

  −Gypsy, don’t let him go. It will make things worse. I don’t know if either one of them will believe this until it happens, I’m afraid. They have to believe you’re a kooky weirdo, all of this flies in the face of their indoctrination, false information. Believing in the spirit world is too confronting. Ryan’s parents convinced him spirits don’t exist, and he’s brought Christie round to his way of thinking. Call her or get a message to her somehow. But don’t go and see Christie tonight. She’s struggling and not in the right frame of mind. Connor can talk to Ryan at work tomorrow. As soon as I see the killer, I’ll be here. You’ll be the first to know, or at least a close second.

  And with the trace of a smile, she was gone.

  I bounded out of bed to close the wardrobe door, where Connor was ripping clothes out.

  “Stop, Connor, stop!” I grabbed his hand. “No!”

  He paused, holding a pair of shorts ready to get dressed. Hair fell in his eyes as he looked up at me. “I have to go. She needs me.”

  Were those tears forming in Connor’s eyes, or simply sweat? In nearly a year, I’d rarely seen Connor cry, despite some of the worst experiences a person could go through.

  I fastened my grip on his hand and moved closer. “You heard what Isabella said. We could make things worse. Come to bed, honey. Leave it.” My voice was soft and soothing, as if to a child. I struggled with the urge to hold him in my arms and rock him to sleep.

  I pulled at his arm and slowly he followed. “Come to bed, babe. You can talk to Ryan in the morning. Life is always better with sleep. Come on.”

  Connor was mute, and as he fell onto the bed obediently, I held his head to my chest and rocked him, just as I’d wanted. I drifted into sleep, contented and grateful that Connor was with me. Yes, we were in a boatload of trouble and the waters would more than likely get stormier, but tomorrow was a new day.

  Saturday 19th January, 10.31pm

  Renee had been lying in bed when the unexpected breeze blew across her skin. It was on. Again.

  She needed to talk to Gypsy urgently. She’d tried to establish a link a couple of days ago but it wasn’t the right time. Gypsy was stuck in the middle of a crisis, yet again. After extending her abilities almost a year ago when that bastard had tried to kill her aunt Gypsy, she hadn’t needed to use them again. On Friday night, her abilities had reawakened. A little girl had appeared. At first, she’d thought she was imagining it. But she wasn’t.

  Renee had just put her book away to hunker down and sleep when a strong breeze blew across her cheeks. There were no windows open and no fans in the room. As she sat up, she sucked in a breath. A dark-haired girl with a serious expression stood at the bottom of her bed.

  She looked to be about eight or nine, a deep frown marking her face. Then it began.

  −Renee.

  Renee rubbed at her arm. −Who are you?

  −A friend. My name’s Isabella. I’m here because I need your help. To save a life.

  Weren’t they always? Spirits had never appeared to wish her goodnight. Renee didn’t want to get involved in any more messes from unknowns that needed help. Because of the previous nightmare, Gypsy had nearly died and Mum practically had a nervous breakdown.

  −I know all about the trouble you had with Aaron. But this is different.

  Renee’s stomach tightened. This girl could read her thoughts as soon as they occurred, and she didn’t like it one bit.

  −Different how? I don’t want to get involved. Last time, things got nasty, really nasty.

  −I know that. A woman is about to be murdered and you can help stop it.

  Murdered? That confirmed it. This was way over her head. She wasn’t even fifteen yet, far too young to involve herself in capturing criminals yet again.

  −It’s Christie, Connor’s niece. Someone will try to poison her.

  −So why me? Gypsy can help I know she can.

  −I’ve talked to Gypsy. She tried to help by giving Christie a reading, but it’s spiraled out of control. Christie overreacted. She doesn’t believe her and now she thinks
Gypsy is out of her mind, or a fraud. Christie won’t listen to either Connor or Gypsy now, probably not until it’s too late. But Christie might listen to you.

  −What? Christie, Connor’s niece, you mean? She doesn’t know me, and I’m only a kid. If you tell Gypsy who the murderer is, she’ll stop it. She did last time, even when her own life was in danger. I trust her. You should, too.

  −I do trust her. But Christie and Ryan won’t listen, and as soon as I tell Gypsy and Connor who the murderer is, I’m worried hot heads will rule. It could get nasty. I want you to talk to Gypsy about the murderer’s identity.

  −What? I still don’t understand.

  Life had been good for a long time now, and Renee was enjoying it. Dad had moved back home and, other than the odd argument; he and Mum were getting along fine. Some people might have said her life was boring and routine, but Renee liked it just as it was, thank you very much.

  −All I’m asking you to do is talk to Gypsy. I’ve told her, but she needs to understand that Christie’s killer is planning her murder. Soon. It looks like it’s someone at her workplace, not Ryan, her boyfriend.

  −How can you tell? How do you see him? What’s going on in there?

  −You mean the spirit world?

  −Yes. How and when do you know?

  Isabella paused for a moment.

  −It’s hard to describe, the two worlds are vastly different. Imagine a long dark tunnel. As you journey down the tunnel, entrances to rooms are carved into the side. Each is covered with a curtain. I don’t venture into the tunnel or one of the rooms unless something alerts me, a knowing, and an instinct, intense emotion from the living. I got an alert from Christie.

  A light prickle began its way up Renee’s back.

  −Why are you watching her.

  −I’ll keep that quiet for now. The information is on a need to know basis, but you will, in good time.

  −So how did you see him?

  −Through a parted curtain, flung back. My world is similar to yours in some ways, but we pay more attention to instinct. Instinct took me to Christie’s workplace. The more real and solid his plans become, the more I see of him. Now it’s barely a thought, a flicker, a murderous intent, but it is there. He hasn’t worked out the how yet. I don’t think he’s fully convinced himself of what he will do or how he will do it. His mind is dispersed. I know he works with Christie because when I part the curtain there she is, and I hear a man’s voice. But that’s all.