Psychic for Hire Series Box Set

by Hermione Stark

  It is complex and beautiful, the sigils interwoven in a mesmerizing way. I am so busy looking at it that I almost do not hear the noise from the other office grow closer. Then the creak of a door handle turning.

  I freeze beside the chair, staring towards the bookcase. There is another door there in the corner, covered in the same wallpaper as the wall. Camouflaged. A second way into this room, and it is opening!

  Chapter 12

  DIANA

  I duck down and scurry beneath the desk, just as a soft voice says, “It’s through here.”

  The woman who spoke enters the room, bringing a scent of smoky apple perfume that makes my head spin. She is wearing a pair of delicate suede kitten heels that are almost identical to the ones she was wearing yesterday. She is followed by a pair of men’s brogues.

  “When was Dr Silverstone last here?” asks Storm’s voice.

  I freeze in my crouched position, my heart making such a racket I am surprised they cannot hear it. Of course Storm would come to inspect Raif Silverstone’s office at the very moment I was skulking in it. That I thought otherwise is astonishing.

  Why the heck isn’t he focusing on Lynesse, like he was yesterday, dammit?

  I cower beneath Raif’s desk, immensely thankful for its old fashioned design. It covers me up on three sides but for a gap of a few inches at the bottom. If they don’t come too close or bend down, they won’t see me.

  I pray that Storm isn’t planning on rifling through the desk while he is here. Why couldn’t he have sent Remi to do this job?

  Maybe he wanted to see Beatrice’s pretty face again, says the little voice

  “He was here on Friday,” Beatrice says in her irksomely soft voice. “It was just an ordinary working day for us. I could never have imagined how it would end…” Her gentle little voice trails off. I can imagine the look of woe on her doe-eyed face.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” says Storm. There is a warmth in his tone that tells me he really is sorry. I wonder if he has reached out to touch her, a comforting brush of the hand perhaps. The thought sets my teeth on edge.

  She sniffs. I hear her blow a quiet lady-like sniffle into a tissue. Now she’s probably patting it at the corners of her big teary eyes. Damn her.

  “Thank you,” she murmurs. “Raif meant so much to me. Both as a friend and a business partner. I cannot imagine what I am going to do without him.”

  From the gap beneath the desk I see her feet move as she sits down abruptly in the chair meant for patients. She is opposite and directly facing me now. I stay utterly still. Hopefully her eyes are so glazed with tears that she can’t see a blurry thing.

  “Was Raif the senior partner?” Storm asks delicately.

  “We started the business together,” she says. “But he was the qualified psychiatrist. I’m a psychologist. Lots of experience, but he was the one with the doctorate.”

  “Did he work as a medical doctor too?” Storm probes.

  “Oh yes. His patients loved him. He provided full spectrum care.”

  “And Lynesse was one of those patients? Her fiancé mentioned it.”

  “I shouldn’t comment on that for confidentiality reasons.”

  “Did he normally make home visits? Or was it a social call to Lynesse on Friday?”

  “Lynesse was a good friend of Raif’s. He adored her.”

  “Were they more than friends?”

  Beatrice hesitates. “I don’t think so.”

  “Are you sure?” Storm asks gently. “Her autopsy revealed she had a recent abortion.”

  Beatrice gasps audibly. “But that’s not possible!”

  “Why isn’t it possible?” asks Storm patiently. Relentless but kind. I hate that he is being so nice to her.

  “I shouldn’t mention this but… You’ll probably find it out anyway. Jared couldn't have children.”

  “Because he’s grisborn?” says Storm.

  “I can’t comment on that,” she says stiffly.

  My eyebrows rise. Wow. So Jared Everett really is grisborn. The press would love that tidbit.

  Grisborn children are brought into existence by questionable magic, the last resort of desperate parents who can’t naturally conceive. Their creators make the child sterile so that there is no chance for the magic to pass down and mutate through generations. Humans rarely turn to it, otherkind even less so.

  “Did Lynesse know Jared was grisborn?”

  “I really don’t know.”

  “Since Jared is infertile,” says Storm. “Could the child have been Raif’s?”

  “Absolutely not. His family wouldn’t allow it. The Silverstones’ consider themselves one of the Great Families. They still hold to the old ways. When Raif first left Otherworld his family matriarch had him magically neutered to prevent him mixing their bloodline with that of other species. Tainting it, he used to say. He was quite bitter about it. It was physically impossible for him to have children. Ever.”

  “I see,” says Storm. Nothing in his voice betrays any judgment, but I can tell that he is repulsed by what the Silverstones’ had done to Raif.

  “Yes,” she agrees readily. “It’s a questionable cultural practice, but I try not to judge.”

  “Then Lynesse must have been having an affair with someone,” Storm says. “Do you know who?”

  “I really couldn’t say. She was Raif’s patient, not mine.”

  “Did you know of any reason why someone would want to harm Raif?”

  “But I thought it was the Devil Claw Killer who did it?” she says, sounding startled.

  “Any knowledge of where Raif or Lynesse might have crossed the killer’s path would be useful,” says Storm smoothly.

  Beatrice begins pacing in a flustered manner. “Gosh, I really couldn’t say,” she mutters, sounding terribly upset by her inability to be helpful.

  “It’s alright Ms Grictor,” Storm says soothingly, moving closer to her. She comes to a halt near him. I can see their shoes are toe to toe. I imagine his hands might be on her upper arms, steadying her. It makes my insides squirm horribly.

  “It’s Beatrice,” she murmurs softly, her voice sounding feminine and breathy.

  “Take your time, Beatrice,” Storm says, a liquid tone in his voice that is utterly charming. It makes me want to throttle him.

  “Raif met new people all the time,” she says in that stupid breathy voice. “He loved our charity work.” I can imagine her nodding towards the pictures on the walls.

  “Was charity work a big part of your business?”

  “It’s what we mostly do. Raif loved helping people.” Her voice breaks a little. “It’s why we closed down our other offices and moved into my house. I had so much space here. And it’s helped us save money to put back towards our work. It was his idea. He was such a good man.”

  “And it never concerned you that he was an incubus?”

  “Of course not,” she says. “Those sorts of beliefs have no place in our modern society. My patients are mainly otherkind, and these attitudes from others are often what they find most difficult to deal with. It is part of our charity’s work to educate society out of these outdated prejudices and downright harmful patterns of thinking.”

  She says it passionately, as if this is a personal sticking point for her. She really does believe what she’s said. I find myself liking her a little bit better.

  “You moved your offices here fairly recently?” says Storm.

  “Some weeks back.”

  “Was Dr Silverstone a neat man?” says Storm. “Efficient? Organized?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Storm has come to stand by the desk. He is now so close that I dare not breathe. I hear the shuffle of paper as he picks something up from the table top to look at it. I close my eyes as if that will make me invisible. If he moves just a couple more feet towards the open section at the front of the desk he is going to see me. I wish I had pulled the chair closer to cover me.

  “Do you know why his office i
s so untidy?” he says.

  Beatrice Grictor hesitates. I listen, eager for the answer. I had wondered that too. “Well… erm, Raif was very private recently. He said he didn’t want my cleaner coming into his office.”

  “And yet a man like him would have kept things tidy himself,” says Storm mildly. “But this office looks like it has been ransacked.”

  My eyes may be squeezed shut but I can hear the soft tread of his shoes on the carpet. I can almost feel air from his movements against my face. My eyes open. I cannot help it. I feel like a trapped animal about to come face to face with a hunter. I watch, mesmerized, as Storm’s legs come around to the front of the desk. I pray for him to keep moving.

  It is like he can hear my thoughts and is determined to do the opposite. He stops right in front of me. And then he bends down and reaches for a fallen file.

  My breath freezes in my throat. His bent head is a foot away from mine. I can smell a hint of his delicious cologne and see the ruffles in his freshly cut hair. As he straightens, preparing to rise, he looks right at me. Our eyes connect. He sees me seeing him. One eternal microsecond crawls by. The expression on his face does not change. He doesn’t even hesitate in his rising motion. I might as well be invisible by the way he just picks up that file and stands again, and then strolls effortlessly away.

  I, on the other hand, am shaking. First with the shock of being caught and then pretty soon with the urge to giggle. I cannot believe it. Storm, Mr by-the-book Special Agent, is covering up for me! It is really happening. And boy is he hopping mad about it.

  I clamp my hands over my mouth to hold the giggles in. Sooner or later I am going to have to pay for this, but right now it is the funniest thing on Earth.

  Storm’s brogues move away from the desk. I see Beatrice Grictor’s dainty shoes turn to face his, as if he is a magnet. Clever clever Storm. I could kiss him. Heck, I could kiss him for plenty of reasons.

  “Oh gosh!” Beatrice is saying in a tone of utter distress. And then she sags down into the chair again. She must be covering her face with her hands because her voice comes out muffled. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to keep it from you!”

  “Keep what?” he asks, still in that charming voice, as if he has already forgiven her for it. He comes to stand in front of her, blocking her view of me.

  “My house was broken into recently. They ransacked our offices. I didn’t report it. I wanted to, but Raif said it would be best not to.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Because…” She clears her throat nervously. “Because some aspects of our charity work might be perceived as being… not entirely legitimate.” The last bit comes out as a whisper.

  Storm is standing so close to her. He is probably holding her damn hand to comfort her. “You can tell me anything, Beatrice,” he says. “Because I know you want to help catch Raif’s killer.”

  I wonder if he is putting on that honey-sweet voice to irk me. If so, he is doing a damn good job of it. Beatrice must be melting into a puddle, and she had been pretty mushy to begin with. It sounds like she is nodding by the little affirmative murmur that escapes her lips.

  “We helped liberate water sprites and their kin, you see,” she says softly. “We’d bring them to this world, to areas where they could help address issues with draught or water shortages and other environmental issues. They help entire communities to thrive!”

  She hesitates.

  “Go on,” Storm encourages.

  “It’s just that some of the sprites were beholden to their Otherworld masters, bound into service for perpetuity. See this picture? See the collars on their throats? It’s a terrible thing for them. They’re practically enslaved!”

  “So you freed them? And you used magic to do it?”

  “Yes,” she whispers. “Bound water sprites are too valuable, you see. Their masters would never free them for money. Raif sought mages to create false keys to unlock their collars. He… he paid for it out of the charity’s funds. I wasn’t aware until it was too late!”

  Keys, hisses the little voice, as if I hadn’t noticed.

  “And a police investigation into a break-in would have uncovered the truth about what Raif was doing, implicating your business, so you didn’t report it,” Storm says.

  “We couldn’t,” she says pleadingly. “Some of the biggest donations for our charitable work come from high profile people. Including the ambassador. If the press found out, it would have damaged their reputations and their business relationships with Otherworld partners. They didn’t deserve that! Please, if you could just keep it quiet?”

  “We can be discreet,” Storm reassures her.

  His readiness to help her annoys me. She may be a do-gooder, and no one could fault her for wanting to help those water sprites, but she’s just admitted to lying about her business to her donors.

  While I stew, she is thanking Storm profusely. She tells him she has been so worried about having to close down the business now that Raif is gone.

  She is probably batting her long eyelashes at him. Her tears are probably clinging to them like dewdrops. Meanwhile I am stuffed under this desk in danger of cramping. I dare not shift. Just one little noise and she would know I am here. And then Storm will be double-mad at me and have to be double-nice to her.

  My one leg is beginning to get horrible pins and needles. I bite my lip to stop making any sound as I flex my foot. To distract myself I mull over the complex symbol drawn on the slip of paper I found.

  This symbol was important to Raif. Zarina wore a collar in the photo. She must be one of those bound water sprites. Looking at the photo closely I can just about make out the lines of this symbol carved into her collar. It must be part of the magic that is binding Zarina to her master.

  I wish I could read the symbol, but it takes those who study magic years to learn the sigils and decades to get anywhere close to mastering their language. Naturally I can’t read it.

  Beatrice is still gabbling to Storm about Raif’s illegal activities that she’d covered up. The damn woman can’t even break a law if it isn’t related to do-gooding. The amount she is going on, you would thing she was in a confessional.

  My fingers trace the lines of the symbol on the paper, hoping to somehow derive meaning. Suddenly the shape of the symbol burns into my mind like it is made of fire. My body seizes up, my muscles going rigid with pain. I cannot move. I am pinned in place by some other force. And then a feeling of suffocating darkness claws into my mind. An endless raging darkness. I am vaguely aware of a noise.

  It is me. I am screaming.

  Chapter 13

  STORM

  Storm arrives outside the restaurant that Remi has picked for the team dinner, a place called Luca’s in Notting Hill, and isn’t sure whether he has the right place or not.

  Tonight was Remi’s turn to choose, and her tastes are usually a little more upscale, and lately she’s been going through a pan-Asian food and sushi obsession. Storm checks his messages, but it is definitely the right address.

  Inside he finds the team sitting around a large round table, their starters having just arrived. Remi has ordered calamari for him.

  Storm frowns at her, and gives a meaningful look around the interior of the restaurant, with its dim lighting and its walls crammed with photographs of patrons over the years.

  “Not your usual kind of haunt,” he comments mildly.

  Remi shrugs and averts her gaze in a manner that immediately arouses Storm’s interest. He wonders if she picked this place for Monroe’s preference. “I heard they do the best veal scaloppini,” she says.

  “I would have thought that veal was not your thing,” he says.

  “Yeah but I thought I’d be nice to Leo for once, the carnivore.” She shoots Leo an amused look.

  Leo shrugs. For his starter he has ordered six portions of chicken wings and is already devouring them. He is always extra hungry near a full moon. New kid Monroe is watching him with a mixture of fasci
nation and mild dismay from his seat beside Remi. Storm has no doubt Remi has finessed this seating arrangement.

  Feeling amused, Storm takes a bite of his calamari. Remi was right. He needed this dinner. They all did. All day he’s been feeling on edge and impatient to make progress, and Diana socking him in the face at Beatrice Grictor’s office earlier had not helped matters.

  He had very nearly cancelled the team dinner, thinking the team could do with the extra time in the office, but Remi had pleaded a convincing case, saying it might be good to look at things with fresh eyes over a meal out.