Psychic for Hire Series Box Set

by Hermione Stark

I read an article about how the actor had been found dead in a bathtub, his blood alcohol levels off the charts. Pills everywhere. Bruising on his body. The piece speculates that the actor’s rebellious and angry teenage son had been heard at the house arguing with his drunkard father earlier that day. A teenage Constantine Storm.

  I read it again. They thought that Storm had murdered his father? It can’t be true! I click another link, but it says the same thing. There are hundreds of them. The press had run the story for months. In the end the accusations came to nothing. There was no proof. And yet Storm had mentioned nothing of this to me yesterday. A pretty huge thing to miss out.

  I feel hollow inside. I feel shaky.

  I want to believe in him. I am sure there must be good reasons why he hadn’t told me. People thought he was a murderer. Perhaps he thought I would too. Needing a break, I go to the water cooler near the entrance of the library and take a long drink before I can bring myself to return to the computer.

  I know that I have to find a link, if there is one. With a heavy heart, I type in two names—Constantine Storm and Xander Daxx. Immediately the search results are dominated with news stories about Xander Daxx. His royal engagement is hot news after all. The old news about Storm’s family tragedies slips to the bottom of the results. I scroll through, looking for something to link them together. Storm had said they had history, but I can find no evidence of it.

  And I simply cannot believe that Storm could be the Devil Claw Killer. He might have the money and the jet-set life style necessary for it, but I had danced and dined with him and simply had not sensed it. How could I not have sensed that?

  Wondering if it is a mistake to focus only on Storm as a suspect, I pick through the search results for Xander and look for others who have reason to hate him. But no matter how many web pages I search and what search terms I use, I find very little useful new information about Xander. I already knew he came from otherworld, and that he runs a billion dollar company that is combining magic and technology in innovative ways to improve transport and medicine and the environment and more. Xander Daxx has an interest in everything.

  I pay particular attention to any otherworlders who might hold a grudge. I agree with those who think the Devil Claw Killer must be otherkind given the gruesomeness of his crimes and his uncanny ability to not leave a single clue. The reasons why DCK would target Xander Daxx are many—for the notoriety of killing such a famous target, or maybe a business deal gone wrong, or he could even know Xander personally. Shooting and stabbing someone feels like overkill. It feels personal.

  I keep my eyes peeled for people who have reason to be angry at Xander Daxx. I find a lot of them. Xander’s work as an ambassador for trade between Otherworld and our world has run up against many political and industrial groups. For every person who applauds his advances or philanthropic work, there is one who despises him. They hate him for being bold, for being abrasive, for being otherkind. They hate him for being engaged to Princess Caroline. There is even a hugely popular petition asking parliament to stop him from marrying her. The guy who started the petition is such a vile and open racist that it quickly becomes obvious he is too stupid to be DCK.

  I bury my head in my hands, realizing that I am getting nowhere. This is overwhelming and I hate reading all the vitriol. If anyone caught me at it, they’d think I hated him too. I will have to remember to wipe my search history when I am done. Back at the Coltons’ I had been so busy reading good news about him that I had blinded myself to all of the bad stuff. It is horrifying how much I had failed to see because I had not wanted to look.

  I find out that even some of Xander’s friends have spoken publicly against aspects of his work. I have seen some of them in this castle. But surely Xander is too smart to have invited them here if they were a danger to him? In the hope of digging into his private life and any hint of a feud or disagreement, I try hunting down his social media profiles. He has none.

  I do an image search instead, looking for paparazzi shots of him getting into any skirmishes. I end up spending a rather long amount of time staring at gorgeous magazine spreads of him looking devilishly handsome on romantic getaways with the princess. And them at the Olympics and at Wimbledon and at a charity polo match. Pictures of him exiting the palace after meeting the queen. Adorable pictures of him meeting Princess Caroline’s little nephews and niece, her brother’s children. And then suddenly I find what I am looking for, a shot that doesn’t belong among all the glitz and glamour.

  It is black and white, and grainy. A prison mugshot. I click to enlarge it, thinking it must be a mistake. But the man in the picture is clearly Xander Daxx. His name is even on it. He is glaring defiantly at the camera and he has a black eye and a cut lip, like he has been in a fight. There is a long thread of comments beneath the shot, some claiming that it has been faked but many saying it is proof of his vicious demon nature.

  When I look at the photo a tingle runs up my spine. It is a curious unnatural sensation that sometimes signals recognition or premonition to me. This time it is telling me that this photo is real, or something about it is real.

  On a hunch I check the date on the shot and then search for any pictures of Constantine Storm taken on that date. I find a result. I click on it and find several more shots in the same series, all blurry paparazzi shots of Storm in a car with a curly haired blond woman. She is kissing him in one shot, touching his face in another. His bruised face. He looks angry, He is brushing her hand away. My insides squirm. It hurts to see him with another woman.

  I double check the date to make sure it really was on the same day as Xander’s mugshot. It was. Both men have black eyes. Both have been in a fight. Both shots were taken in Los Angeles. I wonder what the chances are that this is a big fat coincidence.

  I zoom in to scrutinize the bruising on Storm’s face, making sure it is not shadows. I initially avoid looking at the woman who is kissing and caressing him. When I do I get another jolt of surprise. She has on dark sunglasses and her hair is permed, but I recognize her. She is Princess Caroline.

  Chapter 26

  DIANA

  Storm and Caroline. Caroline. They weren’t just friends. They’d been more than friends. Maybe they still are.

  My head reels at this news. Deep inside I had been hoping to find Storm had nothing to hide and that there was no reason for me to suspect him. Not this.

  I zoom into the photo, to the intimacy of her hand on his face as she tenderly touches his black eye. The image is grainy, but it is definitely her. No wonder she had looked so angry when Storm left her to have breakfast with me. Why did he do it? He had been so attentive with me. So good at hiding his thoughts it turns out. Had he wanted to make her jealous? Did he want her back? Is that why he came here?

  My head sinks into my hands. I had fallen for his act. I had really liked him, but he was playing some sort of game. He’d even had the nerve to tell me that he was damaged goods and not to be trusted. Damn him! I turn off the computer and shove my chair away from it. I have seen enough. The computer can’t tell me what I want. What is going on inside his head. What else he is hiding.

  When I get back to my room, I find Nurse Remi in there sitting beside my tray of food, her arms crossed in annoyance. “The porter had to let me in,” she says. “I came back and your door was locked.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” I feel bad. I had wanted to get rid of her, but hadn’t thought beyond that. “I needed to go for a walk, clear my head… I wouldn't have minded if you’d left it outside the door.”

  “I was supposed to check on you. Your friend Mr Storm called me and insisted. Pushy, isn’t he?” She says it accusingly, as if this is my fault. It beats me why he even bothered, since it looks like he had crap all reason to care.

  “Look, I’m sorry about that. I’m grateful for you looking out for me but I’m fine now, and I’m sure you have better things to do.”

  I am rather impressed with myself for managing to so diplomatically ask her to go away, b
ut she still looks huffy. “He left you a message about a date tomorrow.”

  Now it makes sense why she is annoyed. Maybe she is jealous about my date with Storm. I had forgotten about the birthday treat he’d promised me. No way am I going through with that now.

  “What did he say?” I ask.

  “That he’d pick you up first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “Did he leave a number I could call him on?”

  “Sure, it’s over there.” She points at a bouquet of glorious wildflowers, and the little card with it.

  “Thanks.”

  I hold the door open for her. She seems reluctant to go. After she has left, I find a pretty summer dress and accessories draped on a hook by the wardrobe, as if she has picked out this outfit for me to wear on my date. Jeez. Control freak-ish much?

  As soon as I have thought it, I feel bad. Maybe she was trying to be friendly. Maybe she hoped I would tell her all about it. Hearing about the guests must be exciting for the staff. She probably doesn't have much to do all day, and what better gossip than Hollywood badboy Constantine Storm and his latest conquest, little old me?

  The card from Storm says, ‘Birthday girl, I hope you’re feeling better. Looking forwards to seeing you tomorrow. Call me if you need anything.’ He has left his phone number.

  I start dialing it from my room phone, intending to tell him I am not feeling up to going out tomorrow. I hope to go straight to his voicemail. I don’t particularly want to talk to him. But as soon as it rings, I hang up.

  I pace my room, thinking. Maybe I could go on this date tomorrow. Have breakfast with him. Find out what he really wants. Maybe this time I’ll see right through him and it’ll make me feel better about how much I want to hate him right now. Hell, maybe I’ll get a spark of premonition, some hint of his intentions.

  I keep pacing. Could he really be the Devil Claw Killer? An evil-hearted monster in the guise of the perfect guy? He is rich and charming and well-travelled and smart. The very things that make him so attractive could also make him the perfect killer. Do I really want his attention on me?

  The truth is that I do. I have been thinking of him every minute since I met him. I can’t get him out of my head. And what harm would the date do? If he really is here to make Caroline jealous then he will probably take me some place public so that he can flaunt our date for Caroline’s benefit. Like the sailing boat race for guests that is happening on a nearby lake tomorrow that everyone has been so excited about.

  I won’t be in any real danger at a boat race surely? I can make up an excuse to leave any time I want. I can’t help but want to spend a little more time with him. Is that really so wrong?

  Having made up my mind, I eat my cold dinner and try to get some sleep. I awaken the next morning, my head spinning with the dreams again. Goddamn relentless dreams. The bloody bed, the shooting, all still jumbled up. But still no glimpse of the killer. If only I had seen him, then I could warn Xander and leave it for him to deal with. Then maybe the visions would finally stop.

  I take a shower, and as usual am unable to avoid catching sight of my navelstone. What I see shocks me. It is no longer a dull grey rock. It has turned bright black and shiny as a gem; like a glimmering black diamond. Stunned, I feel it with my fingers. It is as hard and sharp as ever. Did this happen when it vibrated yesterday? What does it mean? Feeling shaken, I quickly finish washing.

  I put aside the dress that Nurse Remi had laid out for me and choose something for myself. I am sick of dresses. Sick of trying to impress people, even Storm. I choose something cool and comfortable — a white sleeveless blouse with a trendy lace collar and a pair of fitted cropped pants. A sun hat and large sunglasses complete the look. It is all any girl needs for a bright day, and I feel like myself in it.

  There is a gentle tap on my door. Feeling nervous, like I have not had enough time to prepare for the role I am going to have to play, I go to answer it. I tell myself that my nerves are excitement, and it helps me to smile as I open the door.

  Storm is outside, already smiling that devastatingly handsome smile of his. He is cool and stylish in a crisp white shirt and chinos. His eyes scan me appreciatively, making my heart skip a beat despite my best efforts to not let it.

  “Happy birthday,” he says.

  He picks me up by the waist and twirls me around. I put my hands on his shoulders and laugh as my world swirls around. He kisses me twice on the cheek. By the time he stops spinning, my smile is genuine. I try not to let it slip away as it hits me this is exactly the role I have to play. Pleased as punch to be going out with him, just like he seems to be with me. If this is a game, I won’t let him out-do me.

  “I thought of you all night,” he tells me, “and I’m glad you didn’t change your mind.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because of what happened?” He quirks his brow at me.

  “I won’t let a creep get me down,” I tell him coolly.

  “I’m glad,” he says. “So, aren’t you going to say you thought of me too?”

  “I did think of you.” I congratulate myself on the hint of coyness I manage to inject into my voice, when what I am really feeling is freaked out at how uncertain he is making me feel.

  “Good,” he says, almost arrogantly, and stupidly it makes my heart beat faster.

  “But only a little,” I tell him, to put him in this place.

  He looks delighted at my cheekiness. “I’ll soon have you thinking of me all day,” he declares.

  Gosh, how easy it is to play the part of a girl who likes him far too much for her own good. He is standing so close to me, like he was just yesterday when I tiptoed up to kiss his cheek. It seems the most natural thing in the world when he bends down to affectionately lean his forehead against mine. I can feel the tickle of his minty breath on my skin. He gazes at me. My heart trips like a snare drum, wondering if I am going to be kissed for the first time in my life. Will I let him? Do I even want to stop him?

  When he whispers, “We’d better hurry up and leave,” I am almost disappointed.

  We go down together. I wonder if we’re going to have breakfast at a private dining room in the castle, but he takes me outside and I see a sleek dark car waiting. A chauffeur opens the door for us both. I get in, telling myself there is nothing to fear.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “You’ll see,” Storm says, only smiling.

  As the car starts driving, he puts his arm around me, and I snuggle up against him, telling myself it is an act and yet feeling like I could happily stay there all day. The exact opposite of what I should be feeling.

  I have to keep my face angled away from him, just in case I let slip my thoughts. I am liking this far too much. It is getting harder and harder to remember that Storm is simply too good to be true. That I am supposed to be finding out more about him. That I am trying to find a killer.

  Until Storm gives me reason to believe otherwise, I have to treat this like a job for a client. And yet I feel excited and nervous, as if this is a real date. My first one ever.

  Chapter 27

  DIANA

  All too soon we have arrived at our destination. I get out of the car to find we have arrived at a beautiful meadow. It is a sea of emerald grass crammed with wild flowers exuberant in their blues and pinks and oranges and reds, their heads bobbing excitedly in a gentle breeze.

  There are trees in the distance, and behind them I spot the roof and chimney of what looks like a farmhouse far away. It is so quiet here that it feels like we two are alone in the world. It is a wondrous feeling. Being with him makes everything beautiful ten times brighter.

  I wander into the field, stretching my legs, and Storm gets a large hamper from the car, packed with a delicious breakfast. He spreads a picnic blanket. As we eat, bees hum. Birds twitter. My thumb strokes the back of his hand. It is like a slice of heaven on Earth. It doesn’t feel wrong. It feels real. Nobody is here to watch. The chauffeur and the car have gone away. And
so have my thoughts of fear.

  “What was your childhood like?” I ask.

  He shrugs lazily. “Happy. I’m the second eldest of three. I have two sisters. We were a close family. Things were good before–” He stops abruptly, then says, “Despite what happened, I’ve been fortunate in life. Not the same can be said for everyone.”

  His answer chills me a little. I don’t know why. His words feel like a puzzle-box with a hidden meaning inside.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “I suppose that life can twist you up, especially if you’ve had a difficult start. Make you do things that you regret?”

  He is looking at me questioningly, like I would understand exactly what he means. I look away, remembering all the things the little voice in my mind has whispered for me to do over the years, sometimes cruel unthinkable things. It makes me feel ashamed.

  “What work do you do?” I ask quickly, wanting to change the topic.