Psychic for Hire Series Box Set

by Hermione Stark

  Realising what she is going to do, I urgently hiss, But what if there’s an alarm?

  “Unlikely,” she says. “The police will have had the alarm company switch it off.”

  How do you know that?

  “Experience.”

  What’s that supposed to mean?

  She shrugs, not bothering to answer. She smashes my elbow into the glass pane of the rear door. The glass breaks. It doesn’t even hurt. Then she pulls the end of my jacket sleeve over my hand, and reaches through the hole in the broken glass to the lock. The key is in it.

  “People are so stupid,” she says, turning the key to unlock the door.

  She walks into the house, locks the door behind us, and then strolls through the kitchen into a hallway, and up the stairs. Here she opens all the doors one by one.

  She does not switch on the lights, seeming to be okay with the minute amount of light coming in through the windows. She finds a bedroom, a bathroom, another bedroom, a study, and then finally the smallest bedroom, clearly a guest bedroom. She goes inside, shuts the door, flings herself onto the bed, and lies back with her hands behind her head.

  She lets out a leisurely sigh.

  Shouldn’t we be hiding? I hiss at her.

  “Maybe later,” she says.

  But shouldn’t we be looking for the key? Raif said he had it. We can give it to that poor girl so she can unlock that awful collar and go live her new life. Imagine how scared she is. If the fae haven’t found her already that is.

  “Maybe later,” she says again.

  We should look for clues to her location. How else are we going to find her?

  “Are you going to be quiet, or what? I need to listen.”

  I go quiet, trying to enjoy lying back in this bed, trying to relax, wondering what the hell is going to come next. Every time I hear car drive by outside the window, its headlights briefly lighting up the room, I tense up. She does not. She is perfectly at ease. I’m surprised she’s not humming to herself.

  What feels like an hour ticks by. Literally ticks. I can hear the second hand of the clock on the wall moving. Its sound winds me slowly like a spring, filling me with tension.

  Eventually I can’t stand it any longer. What if she is not coming? I say. What if it was all for nothing?

  “She’s coming,” says the little voice. “She is definitely coming.”

  Fifteen minutes later she is proved right. A car drives down the street, but instead of passing, it parks up somewhere nearby.

  “Told you so,” she says.

  Chapter 24

  DIANA

  We hear the car’s door slam shut. The little voice does not get up to look out of the window like I would have. She lies calmly on the bed, waiting.

  In the darkness and the silence, it is easy to hear the key being inserted into the lock of the front door. Beatrice Grictor has a key to this house. Or at least I hope it is Beatrice Grictor.

  The front door opens and then quietly shuts. Then someone walks into the house, and climbs up the stairs, and goes into the room opposite the one that I am in, the room which is Raif’s study. The little voice doesn’t even twitch. She lays utterly still on the bed, listening.

  We can hear the person moving around in there. Then a scraping noise against the wall that I can’t quite identify, and then small taps and shuffles, like she is searching, moving small objects aside. I hear a voice mumble something, a voice which sounds like Beatrice Grictor’s. And then louder and more frustrated, “Where is it?”

  The search continues. The sound of things being shoved aside more angrily and carelessly now. The sound of books being tossed off shelves. The desk squeaking as it is moved, possibly to check behind it. All the while Beatrice mumbles, and finally there is an angry crash, and a hysterical cry of, “Where is it!”

  And then quiet. I imagine Beatrice scrutinizing the room, trying to figure out where the key that she wants so badly is. The sound of searching commences again.

  The little voice gets up from the bed, opens the door and walks to the open doorway of the office. The light is on inside. I am clearly visible, just standing there.

  Even so, Beatrice does not notice. She is on her knees, picking up books one by one to rifle through the pages and then tossing them aside.

  The room is in disarray, the contents of the shelves now on the floor, the desk and chair askew. On the floor a large mirror is propped a up, leaning against a wall. Above it, on the spot where it had hung, is a hidden wall safe, now revealed. Its door is open.

  Beatrice clearly had the combination to it. I wonder how she got it.

  The little voice clears my throat, and Beatrice’s head jerks up. She twists around towards us. When she sees that it is me, she looks almost relieved. She gets to her feet.

  “What are you doing here?” she says.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” the little voice says. “I was so eager to begin the search that I persuaded Storm to lend me a house key. But I’m surprised to find you here. I thought you were an intruder there for a minute.”

  She glances at my hand, looking for a phone. The little voice holds my hand up, showing her it is empty. “Oh, I never called anyone. I heard you talking so I realized it was only you. But what are you doing here?”

  “Same as you,” she says. “I was so intrigued that I couldn’t resist beginning the search already.”

  “I’ll help. I’m pretty good at this stuff.”

  Beatrice watches me as I pick carefully through the things that she has discarded from the wall safe. The little voice sees it the same instant I do. It looks like a circular pendant that someone could wear on a necklace. It is made from a piece of smooth silver, and when the little voice picks it up it feels as comforting and heavy as a flat stone.

  On both sides are those etchings, engraved sigils that look remarkably like the ones on the Grey Queen’s symbol, but on closer inspection the pattern is different. It looks like an ordinary thing, to have cost so much.

  “I think this is what you’re looking for,” the little voice says.

  Beatrice Grictor had stayed where she was, watching us. She takes a step closer to me now and scowls at the silver pendant I have picked up.

  “You said a key. The key to a safe deposit box.”

  “But this is a key. You recognize it, don’t you?”

  “It’s the key to a water sprite’s collar. It’s useless.”

  “Not to the water sprite it belongs to.”

  “What do I care about a water sprite?”

  “True. And anyway, you’re not really after a key, are you? What you want is the money.” My hand holds up the silver disc. “This is the money. Doesn’t look like much does it?”

  “What are you talking about?” she says through gritted teeth. She is looking at the object in my hand as if it is a piece of rubbish.

  “All the money that Raif embezzled from your charity, and that he got when he sold your business properties without your permission.”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  “Sort of. He used all of that money, millions, to buy this thing.” The little voice tosses it. It spins end-over-end in the air like a coin and then lands back in my hand.

  “Is this some sort of trick?” Beatrice demands. “Why would he do that?”

  “Because this key belongs to a special water sprite, one who apparently is the property of the Grey Queen.”

  Beatrice scoffs in her little breathy voice. “The Grey Queen isn’t real.”

  “I have it on good authority that she is.”

  “Raif would never spend that much money on one key. Why save one sprite, when he could save thousands? Raif was all about saving the world. Otherworld, to be specific.”

  “That changed after he met his beloved Zarina.”

  “Zarina? God, men just can’t keep it in their pants.” Then she shakes her head. “No, I don’t believe it. Raif would never give it all up for one water sprite.”

  “Not even his own dau
ghter?”

  Her eyes open wide, and then she gives a bitter little laugh. It is as if she finally understands. “The bastard!” she whispers. “He thought he could steal from me just so he could have the family he always wanted.”

  She holds out her hand. “Give me the key.”

  “Why? It’s not worth a single penny to anyone but Zarina. It’s not like you can sell it to get the money back.”

  Realising this is true, she drops her hand.

  “How did you know it was me?” she asks, her voice hard now, the sweet breathy tone gone.

  “Because you lied. You said you didn’t care about a safe deposit key, and yet here you are tearing this place apart for it.”

  She shrugs. “Raif gave me a key to his house. I came because I lost one of my credit cards here. I was looking for it. I’m sure the Agency will understand.”

  “Nice try,” says the little voice. “But Storm’s going to find it suspicious that you never told him you were married to the murderous Dr Carrington.”

  “What marriage?” she says. “One you saw in a vision? Who would believe that?”

  “We both know it is real. You admitted it.”

  “It’ll be a bit difficult for you to get hold of a wedding certificate from a secret marriage ceremony that may or may not have taken place in Otherworld so many long years ago.”

  “Agent Storm is very good at finding things. He has so many contacts.” I have no idea if this is true but the little voice sounds sure of it.

  Beatrice scoffs. “Even if he could prove it, I married a brute. He was a terrible man. It was all I could do to escape from him with my life. You said it yourself. And of course I hid the marriage. I was so ashamed of him and what he did. It would have ruined my new life and my new business. People will understand.”

  “You’ve been so clever,” says the little voice.

  She takes another step towards me. “You’ve been suspicious of me from the start. How did you really know it was me? I have to know.”

  “Because you did love him,” the little voice says. “Grictor. I’ve been wondering about that. Such an ugly name for a woman like you to choose for herself. I had to ask myself why. And then I saw the nameplate on your office. Beatrice Ann Grictor. Ann Grictor. An anagram for Carrington.

  An anagram! So that’s what’s been bothering me, tickling the edges of my mind but never quite revealing itself. I cannot believe the little voice kept it to herself.

  “Even while separated,” the little voice says, “You couldn’t bear to not keep his last name. You still love him. You’ve been part of his life all along, haven’t you?”

  Beatrice gives a little laugh. “Very clever.”

  “Did he tell you to come to London to get cozy with the ambassador?” the little voice asks. “All so you could start trafficking water sprites? You must have been really sneaky to pull the wool over Raif’s eyes.”

  “What do you care about Raif?” she scoffs. “You’re angry about the note I sent threatening Constantine Storm’s life, aren’t you? How did you feel knowing you might have lost the man you love? The way I felt when you took my husband from me. You. You’re the reason my husband is dead!”

  She smiles suddenly. “And now here you are. In my power.” She raises her hand, and I see what I didn’t see before. There is a gun in it. She points it at me.

  The little voice does not even flinch. She does not seem shocked. “So you admit it?” she says. “You killed Raif Silverstone? And you used Lynesse Jones as a trick to confuse investigators?”

  “And they fell for it,” she spits out. “But you just had to stick your nose in. Yes, I killed Raif. He stole from me. My husband was dead. My life was over, and he stole from me. I couldn’t go to the police. They would discover the extent of my involvement in my husband’s business. That bastard thought I was weak. He dared to steal from me. Who did he think he was?”

  “And what about Lynesse?” the little voice asks. “I’ve been wondering why she never fought back. She saw you coming. She was a succubus. She could have fought back.”

  “Don’t be so naive. You really aren’t a succubus. Feeding on energy is like eating meat. Just because you can eat it doesn’t mean you will devour a person who is attacking you. Only a psychopath would do that, and Lynesse was not a psychopath. Or perhaps she was just afraid of me, like she had been of my husband. Of his power over her.”

  The little voice nods my head. “It’s good that you admitted it.”

  Beatrice laughs. “And what are you going to do with it? No one will believe you, Diana Bellona, disturbed psychiatric patient, grieving from the murder of her family. You’re mad. You’ve gone off your trolley.”

  “Nemesis,” says the little voice.

  “What?”

  “It’s Nemesis. Not Diana.”

  What are you doing? I whisper.

  She ignores me. “Say you’re sorry,” she says to Beatrice. “And I might go easy on you.”

  Beatrice laughs. “Go easy on me? You really think that you’re going to get Constantine Storm to arrest me? There is no evidence, you fool. All you have is an anagram. It means nothing.”

  “I don’t need any evidence,” says the little voice calmly. “I just wanted to be sure it was you. And now I am.”

  I feel a chill. She’s called herself Nemesis. She has given herself a name, as if she is a separate entity. As if she isn’t me.

  And then her arm whips out faster than I thought was possible. The edge of her hand strikes Beatrice’s arm sharply. Beatrice cries out and drops the gun, which skitters across the room.

  Beatrice screeches, reaching for it. She has no chance. The little voice grabs her head and bashes it into the edge of the desk with such brute force that I’m surprised it doesn’t kill Beatrice instantly. Beatrice drops onto all fours, groaning. The little voice delivers a flying kick in her solar plexus that lifts Beatrice bodily from the ground.

  What are you doing? I ask in panic. Stop it! You have her confession. Now Storm will be able to gather the evidence he needs.

  “No need,” says the little voice in that calm cold manner. “I told you that I prefer vengeance to justice.”

  She is methodically whacking Beatrice’s head into the floor, while Beatrice’s legs kick weakly, trying to get away. The worst part is that she is enjoying it. I can feel her satisfaction spreading through me. It feels like nourishment. Like she needs it.

  I surge forward inside my head. I should have taken over well before now. Nothing happens. It is like I hit a wall. I try again, surging, trying to occupy my own head, my own limbs, my torso. My body, God dammit. My body. Except it isn’t my body. It is hers. She is wearing it effortlessly, and she doesn’t even notice my attempts to take control.

  Beatrice is lying on the floor moaning. Nemesis walks my body over to where my satchel is lying on the floor. She opens it. She takes out something that looks like a small torch. It is a stunbommer. I have no idea where she got it. I’ve not seen it before. And yet there it is, coming out of my satchel.

  Nemesis takes it over to Beatrice. She lowers herself onto her knees over Beatrice’s body, straddling her. She shoves the end of the stunbommer into Beatrice’s mouth. She yanks Beatrice’s hair until Beatrice opens her eyes.

  “Do you know what this is?” Nemesis says. She is smiling.

  Beatrice strains to see. When her eyes catch a glimpse of the stunbommer she whimpers.

  “Do you know what happens when you ignite a stunbommer in someone’s mouth?” says Nemesis. “I saw it once. It’s rather remarkable really.”

  Beatrice is weeping, and shaking her head frantically.

  She is going to do it. Nemesis is really going to do it. Stop it! Stop it! I shout. And then I scream inside her head. She flinches.

  I scream again, louder, and I surge with all of my might, gathering myself like a tidal wave and rushing, reaching for my own hand. And for the briefest moment I have control of it. My hand. I can feel it closing more tightly a
round the stunbommer. And I lift it, while Nemesis fights me for control. I force my hand away from Beatrice’s mouth. I force it to point the stunbommer at the mirror. I point it at my reflection.

  “No!” Nemesis snarls.

  But it is too late. I have pressed the button. The magic ignites. I pray that it will do what it is supposed to. The stunbomm flies towards the mirror, and does what it is designed to do when it meets a mirror. It reflects back, coming directly at me and hitting me in the chest.