“Did Madeline send any vegan treats?” Chloe asked as she dropped onto the couch next to me.
“She said the little ones are from Mighty-O, just for you.”
“Gwen?”
I removed my hands from my face and turned to look at her. She was holding the marshmallow donut out toward me; I must have looked pretty pathetic for her to be offering me pastry.
“Excellent,” I said, smiling. “Thanks.”
“First things first,” Mel said, taking a seat in the chair to our left. “What is this blue thing and why am I wearing it?”
“Merrin made it for Gwen. It blocks her from reading the emotions of the wearer. She may actually be able to stand you now!”
“Fat chance,” I groused, my mouth full of fluffy perfection. Disappointment bounced out of Chloe and off my shoulder like a pack of rubber balls, but I ignored it. “So, tell me from your point of view what happened.”
“You’d mentioned you might be going to stop a kidnapping, so I kept myself available for when you inevitably realized you’re completely incompetent and Chloe’s skills mainly include alphabetizing and bullying insurance companies.”
“I am excellent at both,” she agreed, taking a tiny bite of a French toast donut. I wondered if she’d restrict me to my donuts or if she’d let me have one of hers.
“I was out the door as soon as you called, but I knew I wouldn’t make it in time, so I called Amy. She’s one of you, so—”
“One of me?”
“Someone with powers. Psychic healing.” He waved off my question. “I told her we’d gotten otherworldly news that something was going to happen and passed on the address. She wasn’t too far away, thankfully, and got to you just in time.”
“Not just in time,” I argued. “I still got knocked around. I mean, sort of.”
“How much do you remember after you woke up that night?” Mel asked. I considered his question, trying to piece together the bits of images and sounds left by the jagged shards of pain in my head into an actual cohesive narrative.
“Um. I remember Amy waking me up and touching me a lot, which was nice. I threw up a few times—not so nice. You showed up, maybe flirted a bit.”
“Sounds like me,” Mel said with a smile. I ignored him.
“You told her you looked around, that you smelled vampires.”
“Vampires?” Chloe demanded, shock and disbelief fracturing the peaceful interest that had settled over her. I grunted against the feeling, grabbed another donut—one of Chloe’s, thank you very much—and chomped into it as aggressively as I could manage.
“I said I thought I smelled a vampire, but that’s impossible.” The sounds of Dave Matthews Band’s Crash into Me rang through the room and Mel perked up, sliding his phone out of his pocket. “That’s me.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed,” I deadpanned, though I don’t think anyone understood my mush-mouth retort. Mel was already answering, stepping outside as if he didn’t want us eavesdropping. Chloe turned to me, eyebrows raised.
“He did say vampires, right? I didn’t mishear him? He didn’t claim he smelled, like…” She trailed off, shaking her hand loosely in the air. “Shampires?”
“And what the hell would a shampire be?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say every goth kid at my high school.”
I snorted, shook my head, and got back to the very serious business of eating my donut. Chloe stayed quiet as we waited for Mel. Sonny continued to snack, content to be near the action, even though I was sure he would have offered to help if he could. Mel came back inside a few minutes later, an excited grin on his face.
“That was Mrs. Morris, the mother of the second little girl who was taken. I called yesterday, asked if I could offer my services for free. She wasn’t sure at first and I think she still doesn’t entirely trust me, but she’d like to meet me to discuss the case. I told her I’d be bringing a consultant—it took some finagling, but I got her to agree. We’re to be at the Bouncing Bunny café in an hour.” Mel’s gaze was fixed intently on me, but I didn’t catch on until I took the last, massive bite of my donut.
“Wait, me?” I asked, dribbling crumbs down my front.
“You asked to go with me,” he said. “I can bring Chloe instead, if you want.”
“Can’t you bring both of us?” she asked.
Mel shook his head. “Not likely. They weren’t thrilled with me bringing along one person, let alone two.”
“No, no.” I sighed, swallowing the last of my mouthful. “It’s okay. I’ll get dressed and go with you. This is my problem, not Chloe’s.” She remained outwardly calm but I felt another jagged spike of irritation jab out of her. It held the razor edge of frustration, too.
“I’ll hang here with Sonny,” Chloe said, patting my leg. “Do you need me to pick an outfit for you?”
“I can dress myself,” I protested, getting to my feet. Mel and Chloe exchanged a look that made me reconsider ever speaking to either one of them again. “Shut up. Both of you.” I pointed aggressively at Mel. “Does this café have food?”
“That is generally what a café serves, yes.”
His snark only made me loathe him more. “You’re buying me the biggest, most delicious slice of cake they have.” I headed toward my room. Mel gave it a beat, but spoke as I rounded the corner.
“Don’t worry, baby. Anything I put in your mouth is guaranteed to be huge.”
Chapter Nine
I sat across from Mel in the Bouncing Bunny at a small rectangular table, my legs crossed in a way that might have been sexual. I’d conned Mel into springing for twice the amount of cake he’d promised me by vowing not to tell Chloe he’d done so. Turned out I hadn’t really needed two pieces, though that wouldn’t stop me from eating both. The massive slices of red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting could have fed a bevy of starving orphans, but they were mine, all mine. I took another giant bite, made a sound that was most definitely sexual, and closed my eyes.
Upon opening them, I found Mel leaning back toward a nearby shelf of condiments, utensils, and napkins, grabbing for a fork. This put him very close to an attractive brunette who wasn’t a day under sixty and who looked at Mel like a cat might appraise a stupid dog trotting into its territory. Noticing her—but apparently not her attitude toward him—he gave an unsubtle wink. Even sitting so close to the action, I couldn’t have told you exactly how she went from an angry feral to a purring pussycat.
I’d had the misfortune of knowing Mel for a whole year and, since he’s not shy about his rakishness, I’d seen him work his magic before. Today, though, the experience was different. Rather than wanting to vomit from across the The Internets as he lured a patron up to his office, I found I was intrigued. With the necklace keeping his emotions from assaulting me, my empathy was finally able to pick up on the amount of raw arousal pumping off the woman as they spoke quietly and closely. I did my best not to let it affect me—even being turned on by Mel secondhand was unacceptable, and the cake was sexy enough—but it was still an interesting experience.
It took him less than three minutes to get her number and if either of them noticed the wedding ring on her finger, I didn’t hear them mention it. Though my head was mainly filled with the sounds of my contented chewing, so who knows what I missed?
Mission accomplished, Mel turned back to the table, fork in hand. Sensing what he wanted, I caught his eye and shook my head. To make things even clearer, I stuffed another forkful of cake into my mouth, even though I hadn’t finished the previous bite. I was halfway through the fudgy delight and there was no way I was letting any of it go, not after losing so much sugar to the candy thief. Mel reached toward the plate with his fork and I grunted, very un-ladylike. Foolishly, he seemed to think my grunt was cute and non-threatening and went in for a bite.
So I jabbed him with the fork and pulled the plate closer, swallowing and grunting at him again. The attractive brunette turned to look at us; her eyes lingered on Mel, but she spared a
rude glare for me. I pointed my fork at her threateningly.
“You can’t have any of my cake, either.”
Mel snorted, turning back to the woman with an apologetic look spread across his gorgeous face.
“Forgive my friend. She was raised by wolves.”
I considered the irony of his words as the cougar got up to go. She dropped a hand on Mel’s shoulder, whispered something lusty in his ear, and then sashayed out the door.
“Mel, she’s twice your age,” I managed around a mouthful of cake. He just watched me quietly, clearly waiting for me to explain the problem. I’d seen him go after all shapes, sizes, and ages of women but, despite watching him drum up her interest, I was having a hard time believing he had a shot. “She was wearing a wedding ring. She probably has kids your age and a husband.”
“She’s widowed,” he clarified.
“Your spidey sense tell you that?”
“Spider-Man’s an amateur compared to me. I’m like Sherlock Holmes when it comes to the fairer sex.”
“You’re a sloppy addict and you should quit cold turkey?”
Rather than addressing the comment, Mel snaked in and stole a chunk of my cake. I carped at him but he just smiled and rubbed his belly as if it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. I pulled the plate as close as I could, wrapping my arm around it like I was erecting a hulking stone wall to keep orcs out of Helm’s Deep. After another bite, I waved away the discussion with a flap of my fork and changed the subject. “Tell me about vampires.”
Instantly, Mel’s demeanor changed. “I’d rather not. It isn’t something you want to know anything about.”
“Why not?”
“Gwen,” he sighed, oddly exasperated. It made me smile. I gave him a few seconds to think while I ate more cake.
“Come on, give me something. Anything.”
“I’ll give you something...”
“I don’t want that thing. Having nothing’s better than having that thing.”
“You’re right, there is nothing better than—”
“Vampires, Mel,” I ordered, reaching over to jab his hand with my fork again. He chuckled, rubbing his thumb over the indents I’d left in his skin. I found, as I watched him, that I was actually enjoying myself. It might have been because I was eating delicious pastry, but I think it was mostly the necklace.
“I know one. A vampire.”
“What’s he like?”
“Unpleasant.”
I snorted, shaking my head. “Come on! I’ll buy you some cake if you stop beating around the bush.”
Rolling his eyes, Mel quipped, “I can buy my own cake. And beat around my own bush.”
So help me, I actually laughed. Around another bite of cake, I asked, “What’s your friend’s name?”
“Dirk.”
I nearly choked. “Dirk?” I coughed suddenly, my body warring between wanting to laugh and wanting to breathe. Hoping I wasn’t going to die, I chewed and swallowed as fast as I could. “Dirk? Seriously?”
Mel sighed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.
My mind exploded with vivid, darkly colored images of a mysterious figure in skin-tight leather and crimson silk. Smoldering eyes looked out of my imagination and into my very soul. What treasure trove of nocturnal delights had I stumbled on by asking such questions?
“What's he like? Does he live in a mausoleum?” My mouth ran on without my consent. “Sleep in a casket? Does he have pale skin and a flouncy little cravat? Is his hair perfect? Does he brood? Is he chock full of long-coated man-pain? Does he dazzle you?”
Mel was staring at me askance, his brows drawn together over wide eyes. He was silent for a full minute before he let out a long, irritated groan.
“Mr. Somerset?”
I twisted to face the voice and found a couple standing behind us. I was surprised that I hadn’t felt their grief and worry the second they’d walked in. It was heavy, cloudy like a summer storm and a thick fog all at once. I wiped the smile off my face and set my fork down. Mel got to his feet immediately, offering his hand.
“Mr. and Mrs. Morris, hello. Please, have a seat. This is my associate, Gwen Arthur.” I smiled, unsure if I should stand and shake or let them sit. It was a tight squeeze at the small table, but we all managed it. Mel was the epitome of professionalism and I had to do my best not to gawk at his serious demeanor. All these new sides of Mel popping up were going to start giving me whiplash. He asked if he could get them anything to drink or eat, then got straight to the heart of things when they declined.
“Tell us about your daughter, about what’s happened.”
Mrs. Morris looked to me, her dark eyes slightly bloodshot, then nodded.
“Our daughter Ashley is four. I was home with her for the day. Duane was at work—we work opposite schedules so one of us is always home with her. Um. She wanted to play outside, and I know it’s been cold, but the porch is covered and I brought a little space heater out so—anyway.” She waved away whatever she was about to say. “I was reading and she was playing with her dolls. I wanted to get her some gloves because she kept getting up and going to put her hands in front of the heater. I knew she was cold. I couldn’t—I wasn’t away from her for more than a minute. It’s imposs—I don’t know how she’s gone!”
Her eyes welled up, tears dropping down her cheeks. “I don’t understand it. The kitchen is right inside the back door and I just leaned in, grabbed them, and came back and she was gone. I panicked. I checked the whole yard, the whole house. I checked three times and I couldn’t find her. I asked the neighbors, I called the police. I just kept checking.”
Her breath went wild, wracking her body like a paint shaker. Mr. Morris wrapped thick arms around her, pulling her to his chest, but he wasn’t really calm, either. His eyes were puffy, his face unevenly shaved. As he held her, his tears fell into her hair. I was sitting as still as I could, fighting the torrent of their emotions as it swirled like a hurricane in my chest. My breathing had gone shaky, my jaw tight. It was small, selfish, and horrid, but I wanted to leave. I didn’t want to sit there in that tempest of anguish. I was on the verge of breaking down. If I didn’t leave soon, I was going to wail and melt into a heap on the floor.
Mel gave them a few seconds before speaking softly.
“The police are working as hard as they can to locate your daughter. I want to help. I can’t imagine how awful it must be to lose a child, and I want to make sure Ashley gets home safe, sound, and happy. I’m offering my services completely free.”
Mrs. Morris turned to us, composing herself as best she could.
“We appreciate that,” she said. Her eyes drifted to me again and I felt a wiggle of suspicion root to the surface of her despair. “May we ask what it is your associate does, exactly?”
Before Mel could answer, I blurted out a question of my own. “What is it that you two do? Or what does your daughter do? You know, like, her power.”
“What?” Duane demanded, worry and panic radiating from him in an acidic cloud masquerading as insult. I swallowed heavily, rubbing my hands over my arms.
“I’m an empath, I sense emotions in others. That’s my power,” I admitted. “Your daughter, she could do something special too, right? Did she get that from one of you? What’s her power?”
“Her—” Mrs. Morris breathed. Panic had swelled inside the couple, their spines snapping straight at the same instant. I decided I didn’t like that any better than the sadness.
“Look, just—I’m not here to tattle on you to the government or to some religious nutjob who might burn you at the stake. I want to help. I want to make sure your daughter is safe. I know you’re both panicked. I can feel it. You don’t have to be. I don’t know how to prove to you that I’m—”
“Give me your hand,” Mrs. Morris ordered abruptly. I flinched, knowing the emotions I was absorbing would only get more potent with physical contact. I had scared her, though, and I wanted her to know I wasn’t there to
hurt her or Ashley. If she had a power like my sister’s that needed contact to work, I had to get over myself and let her touch me. Steeling myself, I put my hand in hers, wincing as her emotions seemed to suck up through my skin to flood my psyche. I had to take a deep breath and hold it for a moment. She watched me intently as I let it out in a wavering sob.
“Repeat what you said, about your power,” she said, softer this time.
“I’m an empath,” I said opening my eyes to meet hers. “I can feel what other people are feeling.”
“Marian?” Mr. Morris asked. Mrs. Morris watched me for a second before giving a slow nod.
“She’s telling the truth.” Then, to me, “That’s my power.”
“Handy,” I said. I can tell when people are lying too; it really is a useful ability. She let go of my hand, a bit of tension slipping from her.
“Ashley can start fires. They’re small and she doesn’t—I don’t think she realizes she can do it. It’s never anything big and they don’t last. When she gets scared or unhappy, something... goes wrong. Usually your sleeve will start to smoke and if we don’t distract her quickly enough, it’ll light up.”
“She’s very happy, though!” Duane insisted. Marian had calmed some, but he was still unhappy, still didn’t trust me. I was guessing he didn’t have any abilities of his own and that the idea of superpowers and fire-starting pre-preschoolers still wasn’t one he’d come to grips with. It made me wonder for a second how my parents had dealt with all of us. “It only started a few months ago. We didn’t know what was happening at first, why we found some of her things melted, charred around the edges. She doesn’t do it often.”
“I’m not judging,” I said, holding my hands up. “I just want to help.”
“Does that have something to do with why she’s gone?” Marian asked. She had gone still but her lip was quivering. The anguish was solidifying, the storm inside her slowing. “Did someone take her because of what she could do?”
Mixed Feelings (Empathy in the PPNW Book 1) Page 9