E J Stevens - [Ivy Granger, Psychic Detective 01]

by Shadow Sight (epub)

  Being around my parents and their wary, anxious looks, made me feel guilty. Jinx made me feel important—wanted, needed. Over the years, she had taught me how to be a human being again. Jinx saved me. Not only did she help to give my life purpose by coaxing me to use my gift to solve mysteries, and help people, she also saved me from myself. Jinx did the one thing that my parents, and kids at school, couldn’t do, the thing even I hadn’t been able to do since I was nine years old. Jinx accepted me for who I was—creepy supernatural gift and all. I totally loved her for that.

  Jinx was also an amazing office assistant. Just don’t call her my secretary. It pisses her off. Jinx usually runs interference at the front desk, greeting clients and preparing them for my brusque demeanor and touch phobia. She would have been there now, but we were behind on rent. She had to make that bank deposit this morning or we’d be in big trouble with our landlord. I’d have to face the hot mystery client alone. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Jinx set the whole thing up. She liked to play cupid. You’d think she’d learn.

  With a sigh, I looked at my reflection in the office window. I’ve been getting stray white hairs since I was in my teens. No big surprise considering the things that I’ve seen. It was amazing all my hair wasn’t pure white. The white bits were adding up though, and looked weird on a twenty-four year old, so last week Jinx dyed my auburn hair an inky shade of black.

  The face that stared back at me still looked like a stranger. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the jet black hair. It made my pale skin and unusual, almond-shaped, amber eyes all the more pronounced. I slid on a pair of dark sunglasses, pulled a baseball cap out of my back pocket, and tossed it on my head. I felt less conspicuous, which helped me breathe easier. In my jeans and tank top, I just hoped the client didn’t mistake me for a boy. I didn’t have Jinx’s curves or feminine rockabilly style. I envied her ability to pull off halter dresses, 50’s era hair, and bitchin’ tats. Even her heavy framed, retro glasses were super cute.

  I didn’t do cute, especially not first thing in the morning.

  “Okay, enough stalling,” I muttered to my reflection.

  I unlocked the office door and switched on the overhead lights. My eyes scanned the room as the lights came on with little pings and clicks. The phrenology head on the filing cabinet, wearing an old-school fedora, always gave me a start. Damn it, Jinx, that thing is creepy. I walked in and shoved the hat down over its eyes. I leapt backward into a low crouch when a pen I’d accidentally knocked rolled off the cabinet and onto the floor.

  I wasn’t sure why I was so jumpy today, but it wasn’t a good omen. I hoped it was just the lingering effects of The Nightmare. We needed today’s case to go smoothly.

  I walked the entire room, poking into corners and shadows, until satisfied that I was truly alone. We really should clean up some of this stuff. Private Eye was filled with a weird collection of occult items and gumshoe detective memorabilia from old books and film noir.

  My partner in crime fighting, or at least in finding Gran’s lost cat, had a thing for anything retro. The big black phone on her desk looked authentic, but I knew it was a replica. I had to answer it once and didn’t get any nasty visions from last century. I scanned the wall behind her desk and grinned. Jinx could totally be one of the actresses featured on the movie posters that papered the wall by her desk—if only those actresses had tattoos and septum piercings.

  My desk had its own charm, though charms may be more accurate. Over the years, I had researched protection magic. I didn’t have any real magic ability myself, other than my second sight, but there were many items that the lay person can use effectively. Herbs, crystals, talismans, protection symbols, I had them all…and most of these were heaped on or around my desk.

  It’s no wonder we barely had enough money to pay the bills. I spent a fortune each week at Madame Kaye’s Magic Emporium, a Harborsmouth landmark run by Kaye O’Shay. Kaye is a sweet old lady, and an incredibly powerful witch. Don’t let the tacky shop name fool you. She just plays up her talents for the rich tourists who come in on the ferry each day. Kaye wears more make-up than Jinx, and hovers over a battery operated crystal ball when the day trippers are in her shop, but she’s the real deal. I’ve seen her magic work, which is why I can barely find a place to sit at my desk.

  You never know when you’ll need a good protection charm. With Jinx’s bad luck and my gift for seeing things I probably shouldn’t, I was betting we’d need the junk on my desk sooner than later.

  I lifted a basket from my chair and set it on top of the metal cabinet beside the phrenology head. A few rowan berries and a piece of stale bread tumbled out onto the floor. That basket of Kaye’s goodies could keep a faerie of the Unseelie court at bay. Too bad the Sidhe weren’t the only bloodthirsty creatures walking the streets of our city.

  I sat back in my chair and waited for my mystery client to arrive.

  Chapter 2

  At precisely 9 AM, my mystery client walked through the door letting in a burst of August heat. I had a really bad feeling about this guy and it wasn’t just the, “Jinx is trying to hook me up with a hot date” vibe. I looked closely at the handsome client, standing patiently at the door, and felt my skin crawl. The harder I tried to get a closer look, the more my eyes skittered to the walls, floor, ceiling…anywhere but at my client. Not good.

  I wasn’t born yesterday. I may be a lowly mortal with a marginally helpful psychic talent, but I knew about monsters. I’d bet a month’s food money that this guy was one of the creatures who walked amongst us. One of the very, very old ones.

  “It’s rude to ask someone their age,” he said, crossing his legs and steepling his fingers.

  When the heck did he sit down? Or come inside?

  “Look, drop the magic shield or glamour or whatever it is,” I said, starting to feel dizzy. “If you want my services that is. I like to look potential clients in the eye, not get whammied with the, ‘he’s so hot’ vibe.”

  “Very well,” he said, a smile quirking the edge of his lip.

  My eyes suddenly obeyed my brain and snapped to my mystery client’s face. I wish they hadn’t. He was handsome if you didn’t count the fact that the flesh stretched over his Ken-doll face was rippling as if snakes, or something worse, was writhing and pulsating just beneath the skin. Ew. I swallowed hard and clenched my teeth. It was that or puke all over his expensive shoes.

  “What are you?” I asked.

  My second sight wasn’t giving me any helpful clues. I’m sure there are plenty of baddies with writhing skin and enough magic to cover their gag worthy visage with a glamour, but I was at a loss. I needed more information.

  I sniffed the air and smelled a whiff of sulfur. Oh, Mab’s bloody bones! My hand snagged a crucifix off the desk and I started muttering the Lord’s Prayer. I may not follow any particular faith, but Kaye had taught me a trick or two. Ten to one odds my client wasn’t bothered by today’s intense heat.

  Color me pixed—the guy sitting on the other side of my desk was a demon. My hand, the one holding the crucifix in a white-knuckled grip, started to shake.

  “You seem to have some inkling as to my lineage, however I am not here for myself,” he said. “Hell has no interest in you…yet. I represent a client, someone very powerful who requires your special services.”

  “You’re telling me that you’re some other dude’s lackey?” I asked. My hand steadied as I held the crucifix out before me.

  “Attorney,” he said, shooting me a narrow eyed glare.

  “Lower than a lackey then,” I said.

  I was playing with fire, or brimstone. I should order the demon to leave, but there was something intriguing about his story. I couldn’t help becoming curious. Someone had made a deal with a devil, literally, to gain my services. I wasn’t sure if I should be flattered or die of fright.

  At least I knew my instincts were good—this was definitely going to be a long day and this really was a client from Hell. I stifled a giggl
e.

  “Really, Miss Granger, time is of the essence,” he said.

  “Wait,” I said, holding up my empty hand. The other still firmly held the crucifix. I may be curious, but I wasn’t stupid. “You can at least tell me your name.”

  There was power in a name.

  “Forneus,” he said with a sulfuric sigh.

  This guy needed mouthwash big time.

  Forneus…a Great Marquis of Hell. Not that that meant much since nearly every demon was considered some form of royalty or nobility. Demons were all about ego, which meant that most demons had some kind of title. I think it made them feel better about their tiny…pitchforks.

  So, a minor ranked demon who the demonic history books claimed was skilled at rhetoric and languages. If memory serves, and I’m betting it does, then he also liked taking the form of a huge sea monster. How messed up was that? It was no wonder that his skin was shifting like the tides. There was a Kraken-like beasty inside that meat-suit just dying to bust out.

  I was pretty sure I didn’t want this job—no matter how much I needed the money. I draw the line at demonic sea monsters for clients.

  Hopefully he could contain himself while in the office. Demonic fish gunk was something I didn’t want to have to explain to Jinx. Would making Forneus angry cause him to lose control? I was about to find out.

  “I can give you my answer now, Forneus,” I said, looking him in the eye. It was difficult to do. He may have dropped his spell, but my eyes still wanted to slide away from Forneus’s grotesque, writhing face. “Whatever the job is, no matter how much it pays, the answer is no.”

  “But…” he said.

  “No,” I said. “I’m not going to be tricked into making a deal with the devil.”

  “I can assure you that I do not represent His Eminence…” he said.

  “I don’t care,” I said.

  “You should care,” he said, eyes beginning to glow. “If you care one jot about your fair city and its inhabitants, your family, friends, and self included, then I suggest you hear what I have to say.”

  Threats? Wrong answer, halitosis dude. I shifted my weight to the balls of my feet.

  “Can I get you a drink while I think it over?” I asked.

  I didn’t need to think over his offer, or his threats, but my crucifix suddenly seemed an inadequate weapon. I needed something more suited for throwing. I moved casually over to the office water cooler.

  I had Father Thomas bless our Poland Spring water jugs each week. All I needed was a cup of water and I’d have the Holy Freakin’ Hand Grenade. I tried to loosen my shoulders and look relaxed, but I must have telegraphed my intent. I only looked away for a second, but when I spun around with my water cup, Forneus was gone.

  On the empty chair lay a smoking business card. I so wasn’t touching that thing without super thick, industrial gloves. A ten foot pole would come in handy as well. I did not need tortuous visions from Hell to add to my nightmare repertoire.

  My second sight is strange that way. I can see through a simple glamour, the type the average fae cast while walking our city streets, without any special tricks. Seeing the past history of an item though requires more effort. Psychometry only kicks in when I physically touch an item.

  I’m guessing it’s a built in safety mechanism for people like me. Otherwise we’d all be gouging our eyes out, begging the visions to stop. Honestly, I didn’t think eyeballs were required tools for seeing visions, but I can understand the impulse. That’s why I own multiple pairs of thick gloves.

  If they carried human size hermetically sealed bubbles at the corner store, I’d never leave home without one. I’d roll around the streets like a rodent in an exercise ball. Unfortunately, hamster balls for humans is a fad that hasn’t caught on yet. It’s not fair, rodents have all the fun. With no protective bubble, I had to settle for the next best thing.

  I moved carefully to my desk and pulled the top drawer open with the tip of the cross I still held in a vice-like grip. A pair of large, black, rubber gloves sat on top of paperclips and candy wrappers. I needed to slip the heavy duty gloves on over my leather bike gloves, but I was still holding the cross and holy water. Juggling the plastic water cup onto the edge of the desk, I raced to pull on the gloves over shaking hands. My hands weren’t the only thing shaking. I was trembling all over. The adrenaline was wearing off, allowing fear to catch up with me. It’s not like I get demons for clients every day. Thank God.

  I retrieved the water cup with clumsy, gloved fingers and walked around to the front of my desk. The chair where Forneus sat moments before reeked of sulfur and something like burning dirt that was most likely brimstone. I’d probably have to douse the chair with holy water and haul it to the city dump. Jinx was going to kill me.

  Leaning forward I tried to read the cursive script on the card. No dice. Even squinting and bringing my face closer didn’t help. The archaic writing was difficult enough to make out without being wreathed in a perpetual smoke cloud.

  “Oberon’s eyes,” I muttered. “Here goes nothing.”

  I reached out and grabbed the card, cross still in hand. The script rippled and shifted into letters and numbers. It wasn’t a vision, but it still made my skin crawl like spiders were racing up my arms and neck to nest in my hair. With grim determination, I forced thoughts of spiders away and focused on the writing that was now legible and beginning to glow.

  Tomorrow 7 AM. Don’t be late.

  “Arrogant jerk,” I said.

  As I said the last, the card burst into flames. I wrote down Forneus’ message and rethought my plan for the day. I better visit Madame Kaye before tomorrow morning and stock up on demonic protection charms. Looks like I had one hell of an appointment to keep.

  *****

  It was late afternoon before I could make a trip to Madame Kaye’s. By the time I rolled the, now worthless and potentially dangerous, office chair behind the building and doused it with holy water, I had clients waiting.

  I lit a stick of Nag Champa incense to cover the burning, rotten-egg stink of Forneus and cranked the table fan on Jinx’s desk to high. It set the silver and iron spoon wind chime to a metallic tinkling. Hopefully it would distract clients from the smell of demon butt. Seriously, did he have to ruin my chair? I left a voicemail asking Jinx to bring one of our dining chairs down from the loft and, with a heavy sigh, faced my clients.

  After a demon with hellish halitosis starts your morning by destroying office furniture and leaving you with cryptic threats of looming danger, you’d think the day could only get better. Unfortunately, we were trapped in a heat wave that turned the city into an oven and boiled people’s brains. Tempers flared and clients made ridiculous demands. If I were less scrupulous, I could have made decent money as a one woman hit squad. I swear every client wanted someone dead.

  I made a few promises to look into potential cases of adultery and sent the rest home. When I suggested to one woman that she take her kids to the beach for a swim in the ocean to cool off (it seemed like a better alternative to bludgeoning her husband for forgetting to bring home ice cream), she acted like I was the psycho. She said something about me being a “child hater” and stormed out. Totally effing bizarre.

  Jinx caught some venom from the woman’s glare as she came in carrying a cheap ladder-back chair from our apartment. She raised an eyebrow and set the chair in front of my desk.

  “What was that all about?” Jinx asked.

  “I have no freakin’ idea,” I said, shaking my head. “All I did was suggest that the lady take her kids for a swim at the beach. I thought it might keep her out of trouble and give them all a chance to cool off.”

  “You didn’t,” Jinx groaned. She sank down onto the chair and put her perfectly coifed head in her hands. I suppose she didn’t have to worry about messing up her hair. There was enough hairspray in those bangs to stop a bullet.

  “What?” I asked. “Is swimming taboo now or something?”

  “Swimming with man-eat
ing sharks is,” Jinx mumbled through her fingers. “Haven’t you read the paper? Watched the news? It probably has its own Twitter hashtag by now.”

  “Mab’s bones,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “That bad?”

  “People torn to bloody shreds,” Jinx said, lifting her head. She shuddered dramatically, but I could tell it wasn’t all theatrics. I’m glad I hadn’t watched the news. “At first they thought it was some serial killer because of the livers that are left behind, but the coroner said the bodies were ripped apart in a way that a human couldn’t have managed.”

  “Livers?” I asked. I really didn’t want to ask, but that detail felt important. Sometimes when working a case there will be one thing that seems out of place. After a few years on the job, I’ve learned to pay attention to those anomalous pieces of information. The fact that someone, or something, was leaving behind human livers seemed significant.

  “Yes, the bodies were completely shredded,” Jinx said, wrinkling her nose. “All except for the livers which they always find floating on the water, or washed up on the beach, totally intact.”

  “Okay, that is completely disgusting,” I said, swallowing hard.

  “At least we know why your client was pissed at you,” Jinx said. “You told her and her kids to go swim with sharks.”

  “I can’t believe she thought I meant it like that,” I said. I could be grouchy and stubborn, but I didn’t go out of my way to be rude and yet people had been acting irritated and offended all day. “Well, actually I can. Have you noticed people acting really angry today?”

  “Some guy at the bank had a short fuse,” Jinx said. “It’s the heat. It makes people crazy.”

  “Oh, um, speaking of crazy,” I said. “You won’t believe what happened this morning.”