Power Play

by Kimberly Keane

  “Your missing person, was it a child?”

  “Yes. She was abducted from her front yard two years ago. Her psychic signature is a soft echo. She’s gone.” She bowed her head for a moment, sighed, and continued, “When I told the parents, the father nodded, and the mother broke down. Then the father asked me to find out who killed her.”

  “Have you ever made a mistake when you interpret a missing person’s psychic signature from the minds of their loved ones? Could she still be alive?”

  She raised one eyebrow and gave me a look that challenged my rare question in her ability.

  I raised my hands in surrender. “Stupid of me to ask. You are the best. Why couldn’t you track down her killer?”

  “I could, eventually. But I’d have to do that exclusively. I’d have to sift through all the thoughts going on in the world all the time until her killer relived the murder. There are too many people to concentrate on, so I’d have to narrow it down to certain populations and cycle through those. It could take years, but if he wasn’t dead, I’d find him eventually.”

  “But you can help more people if you don’t get caught up in that kind of chase.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What did you get on Mr. Bradley?”

  “I couldn’t get a fix.”

  My eyes widened. “You couldn’t?”

  “Not a trace.”

  “You’re serious. You can’t get him.”

  “Absolutely serious. First, I couldn’t pick his signature up from your mind. It was there, but it wasn’t a signature, it was blank. But I saw his wife’s signature, so I looked for her and found an anomaly near her. I’m guessing the anomaly is him. It’s like a black hole.”

  “Great. A black hole of rage. I hope Harry comes up with more.”

  “Harry?” Miriam raised her eyebrows and sat back. “Are you considering taking him up on his many offers?”

  “No. You know what a bad idea that would be.” I ran a hand through my hair and took a large drink of tea. “I really need to stop flirting with him.”

  “You need to find someone else to do the background checks on your clients.”

  “I know, I know. But he really is the best. No one comes up with more information than he does.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me, but I’m sure others would come up with the information you need.”

  “He’s managed to uncover vital information quickly. How many people would have known that guy from Chicago was one step away from snapping and going postal? Harry probably saved my life.”

  “Still, that’s a one in a million thing. And it would just be better to stay completely away from him.”

  I gave her an intent stare. “Are you finally going to tell me why you hate him?”

  She sighed. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

  “Hey, you were the only one who didn’t think I was crazy when all this psychic crap went down.”

  “Well, I was going through my own psychic crap at the time and I was pretty sure I wasn’t going nuts.”

  “You aren’t crazy,” I said and then grinned. “Well, no crazier than I am.”

  She laughed and then all humor dropped off her face. “Okay. You know it’s rare that I can’t read someone.”

  I nodded.

  “It’s not that, exactly. I can read him, but I only get glimpses. And they’re . . . strange.”

  “Strange how?”

  She blew a breath out through pursed lips. “It’s not all strange. Sometimes it’s just normal stuff. Well, normal guy stuff.” She blushed, shook her head, then continued. “Occasionally, I get something alien. Music like nothing I’ve heard. Scenes that are so beautiful I could cry for wanting to see them myself.”

  “That doesn’t sound bad.”

  She bowed her head. “And horrors. Screams. Bodies burning, striking the ground as if they fell off a cliff. Pain. No, that’s not it. Agony. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

  I sat in silence for a moment. “I can’t get anything from him at all.”

  “You’ve never told me that.”

  I blushed. “I think that’s one of the things I find so attractive about him. I never know what he’s feeling.”

  “I can understand that. I’d love to not know how petty and mean people are.”

  “There have to be people out there who are kind.”

  “Sure, many people are capable of it, but not many are compassionate in their hearts. We all slip. We all have bad thoughts sometimes. But finding those people who check themselves. Who work to see the good in people. Who give others the benefit of the doubt more often than not. You’d be surprised how rare that is.”

  “And Harry?”

  “I don’t know if he’s kind or mean. I just know he’s been a part of horrible things.” She shuddered.

  “What do you mean a part of?”

  She shook her head. “He’s seen them. They’ve impacted him. I think he’s experienced some of it personally. I’ve never seen something that said he’s actually been a part of committing them, but something just doesn’t sit right.”

  I sighed. “Okay. I’ll try to find other PIs.”

  “Thank you.”

  Chapter Four

  After a myriad of phone calls and traded messages as I reached out to anyone I knew who might have some information on curses, my rescuers had agreed to converge upon my suite that evening . . . all three of us. Everyone else had no knowledge of curses or no interest in helping. I suddenly had a few hours free, and I was going to take the opportunity to sit where it was sunny and warm.

  I changed into a swimsuit, pulled my long auburn hair up into a ponytail, threw on my wrap, grabbed sunscreen and my book, and headed for the pool area.

  I stepped from the air-conditioned hotel into the Las Vegas sun, closed my eyes, and felt the warmth on my skin. It had to be close to eighty degrees—much different from the late March snowstorm I’d left in Denver; not to mention that everyone in Vegas seemed to set the a/c on arctic snowstorm.

  Someday I was going to have to consider moving, but I just wasn’t ready to trade in the snowy winters for sweltering summers. Sure, I loved the warmth, but I didn’t like living in an oven. I’m picky about weather—actually, I’m picky about quite a few things, so sue me

  I stripped out of my wrap, found a nearby lounge chair, wonder of wonders, and looked around.

  I couldn’t have moved a foot in either direction without bumping into someone. Half of me wanted to go back to the hospital and sit on a bench. Las Vegas proper, what some would call the real Las Vegas, was vastly different from the vibrancy of the strip. It was much like any other suburb I’d been to, boasting the same tract housing, stores, and restaurants. Still, I preferred it to the never-ending activity and constant barrage of noise.

  I settled myself on the chaise and leaned back, closing my eyes. I felt a tickle at the edge of my senses and sat up, looking around. Nothing. I had felt something similar on the cab ride back from the hospital. I remained upright, but closed my eyes again, concentrating. There it was, a vast, weightless presence. I reached out my consciousness toward it and it slipped my grasp. I cast my senses outward again, trying to trip over it, to figure out where and what it was, but it was gone. I sighed and picked up my book, committed to getting some relaxation on this trip.

  My eyes were frequently drawn away from the page. I wasn’t used to seeing so much skin exposed. That and it had been some time since I enjoyed the company of a man. I’m not beautiful, but based upon the attention I receive, I am attractive. I was graced with youthful looks and a short stature—a blessing and a curse. It mostly attracted younger men, whom I avoided, and the older men it attracted were usually looking for younger women—not a good sign. Add that to the fact I avoided long-term relationships and was far too picky in choosing the men I wanted. I was screwed—or rather, I wasn’t—on a regular basis.

  A few gentlemen in their late twenties struck up conversations, and I managed to sh
ow a kindly air of disinterest. I wasn’t quite old enough to be their mother, but it was too close. And, despite the temptation, it was a line I just wasn’t willing to cross.

  One gentleman caught my attention. Fortyish, tall, dark skin, dark hair. As if my interest drew his attention, he looked at me. Embarrassed at being caught, I blushed and looked away, bringing my eyes, once more, to my book.

  “What are you reading?” a deep voice said, and a weight settled at the bottom of my lounge chair.

  I hoped I didn’t startle too badly when I looked into the eyes of the man I’d been ogling earlier. I blushed again and fumbled with my book, not sure what to do with myself. I steeled my inner flailing, reminding myself that I was a full-grown woman, and met his eyes.

  His gaze remained on my face, his emerald-green eyes electric against his dark skin. He smiled, and I couldn’t resist meeting it with one of my own, despite the color still on my cheeks.

  I held up the book in answer to his question. It was a popular thriller that was getting quite a bit of press.

  “Are you enjoying it?”

  I nodded. “The story is great, and the main character is gre . . .” I trailed off, realizing that I was repeating myself. Next, I’d say that the setting was great too. I cleared my throat. “I love the main character—he’s hysterical. Have you read it?”

  “Not yet, but I’ll get to it.” He turned his face away and pushed further onto the base of the chair, careful not to crowd me. My mind screamed at me to ask him something, anything.

  “What do you like to read?”

  His back was to me, framed by the hotel and the pool and more people than I’m typically comfortable being around. And in the next moment, everything was gone. I was sitting in the sand under a cold and a black sky liberally sprinkled with stars. I raised my face to the sky and said simply, “Dammit.”

  “That language is bound to get you fried one of these days,” a familiar voice said.

  I looked up into the face of a man I felt I knew far better than I probably did. “Hi, Chuck. This is getting way too old.” I sighed, then continued, “I wonder why you and I seem to be popular with the same gods.” I extended my hand. “Help me up, would you?”

  His monstrous hand grasped mine, hefted me up, and pulled me into a bear hug. I hugged him back. He was the only one that made these surprises bearable. We released one another, and I looked around. “Egypt?”

  “Looks that way. If it’s not, maybe someplace close by.”

  “I thought most of the Egyptian gods were already back. Thank heaven I avoided them, or they ignored me, or however this works.”

  “I heard most of them were back as well. Horus nabbed me, but he was the only one from that pantheon.”

  “You’d think there’d be some rhyme or reason to how they choose us.”

  “I think it’s a lot like who you end up going home with after too many beers.”

  “You’re telling me you think that the gods have beer goggles?”

  He gave me a lopsided grin.

  I threw back my head and laughed. “Who’s going to get fried now?”

  “I suppose we’ll fry together then.” He gestured to my bathing suit. “Nice outfit.”

  “I was by the pool in Vegas. I take it you didn’t make it to the conference?”

  “Nope. Mary wanted me to stay nearby.”

  “That’s right! Gods, she’s got to be getting close now. This is your third, isn’t it?”

  He nodded, a grin breaking across his face as he stood a bit taller. “Chester.”

  “Ah, the prodigal son is on his way.”

  He shrugged. “I like to talk a good game, but so long as he’s healthy and Mary comes out of it okay, I’m good.”

  I furrowed my brow. “Is everything okay?”

  He nodded. “I just worry about her. This doesn’t help.” He looked around pointedly at our surroundings.

  “Where are the others?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe it’s just us this time.”

  I groaned and swallowed hard. “I really don’t like that; it’ll make it more difficult to work with whoever shows up.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “I really don’t like that. It’ll make it more . . .” My voice trailed off as more people popped in around us.

  “Thank the gods. Hey, have you been able to work with those who haven’t called you?”

  I nodded. “If I can get to their realm and request their presence.”

  “Hmm,” he said. “I’m going to have to try that. Well, let’s meet the others.”

  None of the others spoke English and none knew the few words of French and Spanish I slaughtered. Chuck tried another language, something more guttural, to no avail.

  Then he arrived. He was smaller than most men I knew. Maybe five foot four. Bronze skin, brown eyes, and luxurious black hair that fell to his shoulders in loose waves. We all turned toward him and bowed or curtsied. One person lay on the ground, arms extended above his head.

  “Rise,” he said, and looked around. His brows furrowed. Then he wiped the emotions from his face. I’d seen the look before; it was usually followed by yelling about ungrateful followers and lack of offerings. Fortunately, the gods tended to be confused enough that they didn’t immediately resort to violence, unless that was a normal part of their personality. I was guessing this god came before the Egyptian gods and from a patriarchal society. Hopefully I could get his ire up just enough to dismiss me, but not enough to get me fried.

  I stepped forward, curtsied again, and said, still looking at the sand at my feet, “Great one, it has been hundreds of years since you’ve graced us with your—”

  “Allow your husband to address me first,” he said and waved his arms as if to tell me to remove myself from his presence. That did it. I found myself, once again, in my lounge chair, poolside. The handsome gentleman was gone and probably thought that I had snuck away as his back was turned. I cursed again under my breath, pulled the book from under my ass, and tried to straighten the pages.

  Chapter Five

  Randy Mero joined Miriam and me in my hotel room. Randy was a psychic medium who also worked with life energy. I’d met him three years prior when we were hired by a man who wanted to contact his late wife. If Randy couldn’t contact the wife, I was to try to locate her via the various gods of the dead. Randy had made contact and channeled the woman—he was amazing to watch. We shared dinner that night, and our friendship bloomed over the following years.

  Our conversation turned to Peter and his unwelcome guest. I’d briefed them earlier on the phone, and Randy had invited an associate of his who, thank the gods, was willing to help.

  “She’ll be here by nine?” I said.

  “Yes. She’ll probably be here by quarter ’til. She’s very prompt.”

  “Who is she?” Miriam said.

  “Linda Colt. She’s a spiritual healer, a general psychic, and a medium,” Randy said.

  “And what else?” Miriam said.

  Randy gave Miriam a hard look. “She practices voodoo.”

  “Does she work with Zobop?” Miriam said.

  “I’m sorry?” I said to Miriam.

  “Forgive the analogy,” she said to Randy and turned to me. “I’m asking if she works with the Force or the dark side.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “She works with Petro,” he said to Miriam, and then, without pause, he said to me, “She works with both the Force and the dark side.”

  “Oh,” I said again and realized I was going to have to expand my repertoire of responses when I was clueless. “Does this mean she’s dangerous?”

  “No,” Randy said.

  “Not necessarily,” Miriam said at the same time.

  In that auspicious moment, there was a knock on the door. I wiped the confusion from my face and answered it. Linda’s amber eyes were piercing. Her stark appearance was made sharper by her short, blunt-cut black hair and pale complexion. Fortunately, she was not g
aunt enough to appear corpse-like.

  “You are Amanda.” It was not a question.

  She walked past me into the room, greeted Miriam in the same manner, walked to Randy, and grasped his hand. The softness of Randy’s brown eyes contrasted with the sharp lines of Linda’s appearance. Even the redness of his hair dulled next to her. I wondered where Randy had met Linda and remembered he dealt with spirits. He could contact and work with the spirits of living things as well as those that have passed. If Linda was a medium, then she too dealt with spirits, although only those that have passed. I didn’t think he was a practitioner of voodoo, but I supposed it was possible.

  “There is a boy who is cursed.” Linda dropped Randy’s hand and turned to me.

  “Yes,” I said. She had to have some of the talent Miriam had as well.

  She crossed the space between us and leaned in close to me. I took a step back—hadn’t the woman heard of personal space?

  “He is in the hospital,” she said.

  “Yes,” I said again. “He’s suffered from multiple—”

  She held up her hand too close to my face, and I pulled away, not letting her touch me. “Don’t tell me.”

  She stalked around me, grabbed a large bauble that hung around her neck, and shook it, making a snake-like rattling sound. She stopped in front of me and leaned in even closer than before. I took another step back but maintained eye contact.

  “The curse has made him ill, this boy. It’s the sin of the father that brought this.” She stepped back, but neither of us looked away. “Yes. I see you suspected this. It’s repayment. Justice. His son shall die, slowly, as he watches. The curse is strong. Even if it kills the boy, something must be done. It will not die with him but will continue to another host. This was not its main purpose, but it has been given too much power.”

  “How do—” I started again, but she held up her hand in a stop gesture. She was really starting to annoy me.

  “The mother. The wife. She suffers too, but not from the curse. Not from illness. A gift was granted her at great cost. She did not ask for it. He has bound her. He steals her power. She is barbed. None can get close.” Her brow furrowed. “Yet, you got close.”