[Anthology] The Paranormal 13- now With a Bonus 14th Novel!

by Dima Zales

  At the end of the session, he sat back with a sigh. A few moments passed.

  “Remember, just because you aren’t demonstrating a particular gift now doesn’t mean you won’t be able to do it later.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  I told myself that was good — the less I could do, the less interest this group would have in me.

  “Are there other kinds of abilities people have?”

  “Yeah, sure, there are lots of different gifts. The stuff I’ve been testing you for is big — the things that tend to be too impressive to go unnoticed. But there are tons of subtler, more unusual gifts. Sometimes you hear them called ‘quirks.’ The word’s considered pejorative, though, so I try not to use it. Really, every gift is a gift.”

  I nodded and wondered if he had a so-called quirk himself. I sensed it would be rude to ask, so I kept my mouth shut.

  “At any rate, I suspect you just haven’t come into your gift, yet. There’s a rule of thumb for figuring out how long someone’s going to keep developing: you take the person’s age at the time they enter the first caste and divide that number in half. Then you add the two numbers together. When the person reaches that number of years, they probably aren’t going to develop much more raw power, though they could keep learning and refining their skills.”

  “So, if you start sensing workings at age ten, you keep developing up to age fifteen?”

  “Yes, exactly. There are certainly exceptions, but it holds true for most.”

  “So if I’m starting at twenty-three …”

  “You have a lot of developing to do,” Graham finished. “It’s possible you’ll be able to fly, but not until you’re thirty,” he said, and winked.

  Great. It was all well and fine to develop slowly, but if I could do something now, I’d like to know it. I felt like a guppy who’s just realized its aquarium is full of piranhas.

  “Is there a way to test for the more unusual gifts?”

  “Not specifically. There are literally thousands of them, and some of them are pretty hard to pin down. It’s possible that many of us have one or more that we never find out about. For instance, one guy I knew could put anything up his left nostril, so long as he could pick the item up and push it in that direction. But he didn’t know about it for the longest time. I mean, who really tries to put a chair up their nose, right?”

  “Yeah. Wow.”

  I hoped that if I had any quirky gifts, they didn’t involve bodily orifices.

  “Anyway, this last test is open-ended. It might allow an unusual gift to show up. What I’d like you to do is just open yourself to the energy of this place and see what might come to you.”

  I sat there, feeling dull. “I don’t know how to open myself to the energy of a place.”

  “It’s a bit like meditating. Have you ever done that?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, try closing your eyes and relaxing all your muscle groups one at a time. Then allow yourself to focus on your surroundings — what you feel, what you hear, what you smell. If your mind wanders, just bring it back to those things. Try to notice as much sensory information as you can, but don’t think about it. Just notice. That’s all you have to do, really.”

  I sighed and closed my eyes, certain the exercise would be pointless and boring. I tried to focus on my senses. My rear end was going numb, and that occupied all my sensory input at first. Slowly I began noticing other things — the sound of the wind in the bare tree limbs came first. It actually was quite loud, though it had been background noise a minute earlier. The breeze touching my face was obvious, but I found I could also feel colder and warmer spots on my legs, depending on how the wind was striking them. The smell was what I think of as not-quite-spring. It was wet, and that was springlike, but it was still dead, like old leaves. When spring really came, in a few more weeks, it would start to smell like fresh dirt and earthworms in a place like this. Far off I heard a bird call, though I had no idea what kind.

  I sat there, just taking those things in. It actually wasn’t boring at all. It was interesting and sort of stimulating. I felt energized, more awake to the world than I had in ages. My hands grew warmer, and I could feel my pulse beating in them, which was weird.

  After a while, I felt sure there was something in front of me that I needed to pick up. My internal editor immediately pointed out how dumb that was, but I shushed it. Graham was trying to teach me. I’d always been a conscientious student, and that wasn’t going to stop now.

  Without opening my eyes, I reached down to the ground in front of me. For a moment, it felt strangely slick, as though all the texture had gone out of things. Then my fingers found the dead leaves, dry on top and damp beneath. I brought my hands together in the leaf litter and felt something soft and warm in them. I raised my hands and opened my eyes to see what I had.

  It was a small golden-brown mouse. It crouched in my cupped palms, then sat up on its haunches, looking at me and sniffing. It had impressively thick whiskers on its snout. They quivered charmingly. It didn’t seem scared at all.

  I’d never been afraid of little critters — even snakes and rats and spiders were fine by me. I actually thought this little guy was really cute. Was it a “he”? I checked the back — yep.

  “Hi, buddy. What’re you doing out this early in the year, huh?”

  I looked up at Graham, half expecting him to be repulsed by the fact I’d picked up a rodent. Instead he looked … well, it was hard to describe. There was an element of surprise there, but the word didn’t do it justice. Maybe it was a mixture of several feelings. He looked from the mouse to me and back, and didn’t say anything at all.

  “Um … so, I can tame wild animals?”

  He kept staring at me and the mouse, apparently at a loss for words.

  Finally he said, “That’s really unusual. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen someone do that.” He paused. “It’s definitely a good ability. Very good.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” he said firmly. “Definitely. Just think how useful it could be.”

  I was dubious. I mean, what was I going to do, sic a hoard of mice on Williams the next time he came to kidnap me? Maybe Graham was trying to make me feel better about a not-very-useful gift. Come to think of it, maybe the mouse wasn’t wild at all. Sometimes people dumped their unwanted pets in places like this.

  He got up and opened his back pack to put his trash bag back in.

  “You’d best let Mickey there go back to what he was doing.”

  “Okay.” I set my hands down in the leaves, expecting the mouse to hop off, but instead he ran up my arm and into my hair. Like I said, I wasn’t afraid of creepy-crawlies, but a mouse in my hair was a surprise, even for me. I reached up, then hesitated. If I dug around in there, he might bite me.

  “Graham …”

  The mouse wiggled his way inside the collar of my coat and curled up against my neck. He was so warm and soft. Suddenly, I really wanted to keep him. He just had to be someone’s pet — he was so friendly.

  “What? Did it take off?”

  “Yeah.”

  I just didn’t say where. I got up and handed him my trash bag, and we headed back to the car. The mouse seemed content to sleep all the way home.

  When we got back to my house, Graham walked me up to the door and gave me a kiss on the cheek. When he started bending over to do it, I was a bit worried he’d touch my neck and squash the mouse, but he touched my shoulders instead.

  It turned out to be sort of lingering, for a kiss on the cheek. I felt my body sit up and take notice, against my better judgment.

  He pulled back and looked at me, then leaned in again and brushed his lips against mine once, twice. His breath touched my lips, and I tipped my head up to him. He kissed me slowly, tracing a fine line along my lower lip with the tip of his tongue. I opened my mouth, and he deepened the kiss gently until our tongues were stroking together. His hand slid down to my lower back and pressed my body into his. I
could feel the hardness in his groin, and felt a warm tightening deep in my belly in response.

  It had been a long time.

  It would have to be a little longer.

  My hormones shouted and waved angry placards, but I pulled back anyway. Getting together with Graham right now just wasn’t a good idea. He leaned his forehead against mine and gave me a little smile. Instead of pressing things, he looked pleased I’d let him kiss me at all. That was a nice ego boost. Made me want to kiss him again, actually.

  I needed a cold-shower line of thought.

  “Do you think Williams will come back?” I asked.

  “Not a chance,” Graham said firmly, giving me a little hug and then letting me go. “They know I’m onto them.”

  He looked completely confident on this point, so I accepted what he said. Still, I wish I’d managed to tame a wolf instead of a mouse.

  He gave me a warm smile, then said he’d come by that night at about dinner time, if that was okay. I said it was, then immediately thought, Why did I say that? I was going to get myself in trouble.

  I stepped inside and leaned against the door for a few minutes, gathering my wits.

  8

  From the silence, Ghosteater watched the male and female humans kiss. He could smell their arousal. It brought back ancient memories from the time before his difference truly emerged, the time when he still ran with his pack, hunting the great lost beasts of that age, the time when he still hungered to breed and make young. But no she-wolf would have him, even then. They feared him.

  He didn’t realize, at first, that he was different from the others — bigger and stronger, perhaps, but not truly different.

  At some point, though, the hunts began to bore him. Leaping from the tall grass upon a bison or sloth — such creatures presented no challenge. They smelled of rank terror and tasted of it too. When his kin would not follow him against other, more equal creatures, he left them and wandered alone, hunting the great cats and bears. When he returned at last, his kin ran from him, as terrified of him as any other animal would be.

  He grieved, then, afraid he would always be alone, a terrible thing for a wolf. And so he had been, mostly. But he had been wrong to fear it. Solitude had its rewards. And he wasn’t a wolf — not really. Not anymore.

  Still a beast, though. Always that.

  He scented the air again.

  The male was unfamiliar, but he recognized the female as blood kin to the other humans the wind had shown him. That made sense — it was this young female the wind had brought him there to see.

  The wind spoke incessantly, and it liked to be heard. Few things could understand it, so it often sought him out. Usually it simply told him about what it had touched, of late — a months-dead doe just emerging from melting snow, cold drops of water falling toward the forest floor, the line of harder rock protruding from an exposed peak.

  But now, for the third time in just a few days, the wind spoke not of what it had touched, but of what it might touch in days to come. When he gave it his attention, it fractured into a thousand competing voices, each running down a different path. Rapid and fleeting, the whispered stories avalanched over him like mist, there and gone before they could be grasped. In the end, he understood only their common thread.

  She-pup, she-pup, she.

  Intrigued, he crept closer, watching as the female disappeared into the house.

  He turned his attention to the golden-haired male, who was walking down the path to the car. The man smelled of anxiety. He got into the car and sat for several minutes, drumming his fingers on some part of the interior. Ghosteater could tell his anxiety had to do with the female — it was blended with lingering notes of desire. Perhaps he feared for her. But why? She whom the wind had named.

  Finally, the male came to some decision. He smelled of risk and purpose.

  He brought the car to its strange, lifeless form of life and pulled out.

  Ghosteater followed him. He loped through the silence behind the car, but only so far as the eastern edge of town. He could not run fast enough to keep up on the highway. Curious, he settled down to see if the male would return.

  9

  First things first: I needed a home for Mr. Mouse.

  There was an old ten-gallon aquarium in the basement from one of my brother’s childhood pets. I brought it up to the kitchen and shredded some newspaper for the bottom. I added a little bowl of water and a slice of bread. Then I carefully scooped the sleeping mouse out of my collar and settled him in a corner of the tank. I put a couple heavy books over the top, leaving some cracks for air.

  I made myself a quick sandwich, then went and knocked on Mrs. Gunderson’s door and asked if I could borrow her car to run an errand. I would’ve asked Suzanne, but I knew she’d never be satisfied with the explanation that I’d loaned mine to a friend. She’d want details, and I’d end up lying and getting caught.

  Mrs. Gunderson, on the other hand, was getting a little vague. She was happy to loan me her car, no questions asked, so long as I picked up a few things for her at the supermarket while I was out. That was no problem — I did that for her most weeks, anyway.

  There was a pet store in Frederick, and it was open on Sundays. I got a lid for the aquarium, a water bottle, some rodent kibble, a tiny bowl, a little wooden house, and a wheel. I also got a bag of paper bedding — I’d hate for the little guy’s nice golden fur to get all newsprinty.

  After dropping off Mrs. Gunderson’s groceries, I went and got the mouse out of his tank. He was awake by that point and seemed glad to see me. He ran up my arm again and snuggled in my hair while I dumped out the newspaper and arranged his new home. When I put him back in the tank, he ran around sniffing everything and quickly settled on the food bowl as the most interesting item. I left him holding a kibble in his cute little pink hands and nibbling away.

  I made a cup of tea and settled on the couch in the den to think about Graham.

  That kiss had been really nice, but his attention confused me. I just didn’t understand why he would be interested in me.

  He was older than me — thirty or thirty-five, maybe — and seemed so sophisticated. He didn’t speak like I did, didn’t dress like I did.

  I was a young, uneducated small-town girl. In fact, I had barely been outside Wisconsin. I couldn’t see that my personality was the big attraction. I was nice enough, but I wasn’t vivacious or incredibly funny. Similarly, I was smart enough, but smarts don’t make up for ignorance. If I’d turned up with some amazing ability, like flying, maybe that would draw his interest, but that hadn’t happened either.

  I wasn’t trying to be down on myself, just realistic. I thought I was reasonably attractive — not stand-out beautiful, but pretty enough. But no way was I attractive enough to overcome what would undoubtedly be a lot of deficits in the eyes of a worldly older man.

  I realized I was overanalyzing Graham, probably because it was titillating to keep thinking about him. The long and the short of it was that I didn’t trust his motives, and it wasn’t the time to be getting involved with someone, anyway. I needed to draw a firmer line the next time I saw him. Hopefully I could do it without having to say something directly, since that would make things uncomfortable.

  The phone rang. I thought about letting the machine pick up — I didn’t much feel like getting off the couch, which was now nicely warm. It rang again. With a sigh, I unfolded myself and climbed the stairs to answer it.

  “Beth?”

  It was Ben. He sounded distracted and annoyed.

  “Ben. What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Tiffany — she’s run off. We’re at the mall. I know she’s in here somewhere, but I can’t find her. The mall people are looking for her, and they’ve called the cops, too. Can you come and pick the rest of the kids up and take them home?”

  I was relieved. It didn’t sound like a serious situation, just the kind of minor rebellion an upset kid would stage. Tiff was probably hiding in a dressing room somewhere,
starting to feel silly.

  “Yeah, of course. Tell me where to meet you.”

  “We’re at security. It’s by the Younkers.”

  “Okay, I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

  “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Beth.”

  The mall was south of Eau Claire, more than an hour’s drive. I grabbed my wallet and coat and headed back to Mrs. Gunderson’s. I explained that I needed her car again for a family emergency. She didn’t mind, though she did ask me to go to the grocery store for her on the way home. Along with the keys, she handed me the same list she’d given me earlier that afternoon. She didn’t seem to have noticed that all the items on it were crossed out. I didn’t bother mentioning it, just pocketed the list and started driving.

  I made it to the mall. I didn’t make it inside. Just as I was getting out of the car, the van I’d parked beside opened up, and someone pulled me in. I bet you can guess who it was. I struggled, but it didn’t help. I ended up bound and gagged on the floor.

  Williams shifted to the driver’s seat, and we pulled out. Kara leaned over me worriedly. I tried to put my outrage into my stare, but she didn’t seem interested in what I was feeling. Something else was worrying her. Maybe it was Graham. I had a moment of satisfaction, but then I remembered Graham didn’t know where I’d gone. Shit.

  We drove for about half an hour, then pulled off onto a dirt road. After a few more minutes, the van lurched to a stop. It all seemed sickeningly familiar. At least we hadn’t gone far enough to have reached the old mill. Not unless we’d gone twice the speed limit.

  Williams went around and opened the back door. He grabbed my feet and hauled me out. Kara held my head so that it didn’t bounce along the metal floor on the way. Maybe they were setting up a good-cop, bad-cop routine.

  I was surprised when I heard the passenger door close, and Callie appeared. Her eyes widened when she saw me.

  “Beth! Are you all right?”

  She knelt down beside me and reached for the gag.