Psychic for Hire Series Box Set

by Hermione Stark

  “You’re a friend of India Lawrenson, are you?” he says.

  I frown at him. Did she send him? “Yeah, I know India. Why?”

  “Yes or no?” he demands.

  “I can’t see how it is any of your business.” I know that my attitude isn’t endearing me to him, but neither is his making me like him much at all.

  He gives me a smile that isn’t much of a smile. “Didn’t you just have lunch with her?”

  How the hell does he know about that?

  I find myself reaching into my bag for the wolfsbane-dipped dart that Theo had given me. I could jab him with it right now and he wouldn’t see it coming. Except I’ll look a damn fool if he is just some harmless human. And if I do it here, they’ll know I got the dart from Theo and he might be in a bunch of trouble for using magic against an unarmed human.

  Goddamn hyperactive mind! Times like this I wish the little voice in my head, Nemesis, were still here. She would know what to do.

  I retreat to behind the relative safety of the counter before withdrawing my hand from my satchel. I place a finger on the discrete alarm button that will have Theo here in a flash if I press it. Theo, an experienced wizard in his forties, will make mince meat of this guy.

  I fix a polite smile on my face and switch to a more conciliatory bland tone. “I’m sorry. Who are you?” I ask.

  “Detective Inspector Brynden Zael, Metropolitan Police.” He shows me his police badge. It looks real. I should be reassured, but it just makes me feel even more on edge. My guilty conscience I suppose.

  But I haven’t done anything, and I’d damn well better act like it. “Is India alright?” I ask. “Did something happen to her?”

  “Why would you think something happened to her?”

  “Because she was supposed to meet me for lunch and she didn’t show up.”

  “Didn’t she?”

  “That’s what I just said.”

  He takes out a notebook and pen. “Where and when were you supposed to meet her?”

  “Just now. At Frannie’s café around the corner at one o’ clock. Can you please tell me why you are here?”

  He ignores my question. He is noting down the things I am saying. “How do you know India Lawrenson?”

  “She came into the store yesterday.”

  He raises a skeptical eyebrow. “You met her yesterday for the first time and decided to have lunch?”

  “She was nice. And she lives in my neighborhood. We’re both new-ish to London so we thought it would be nice to have lunch.”

  “And where were you on Friday night?”

  “What time? At six I started work at Luca’s in Notting Hill. It’s an Italian restaurant. I finished at quarter past twelve and walked home. I live not too far from it. Then I went to bed.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmmm,” he says.

  “Why did you need to know?” I ask. It sounded like he was asking me for an alibi, which is really freaking me out. My voice rises an octave as I say, “Are you going to tell me if India is okay or not? Was it the Wolf-Claw Killer?”

  That super-malleable eyebrow of his rises again. “Why would you ask that?”

  “Because the newspapers said there was another one last night in Shoreditch. India told me she was going to Shoreditch for her friend’s birthday party. And India’s blond like the other victims.”

  “So you knew all about where India and her friend would be last night, hmm? Quite the little detective.”

  “Yes, if you must know,” I snap, losing my patience with the buffoon. “I work with the Agency of Otherkind Investigations as a consultant sometimes.”

  “You?” he sneers. He looks me up and down, and doesn't seem much impressed with what he is seeing.

  “Yes me. As a psychic.”

  “Really? And what can your psychic skills tell me about the current whereabouts of India Lawrenson?”

  “Nothing,” I say, seething now. “It doesn't work like that.”

  “If it works at all.”

  That stings. Especially since what he says is true. I should never have mentioned it. “Are you going to tell me what happened to India,” I demand, “Or do I need to call Agent Storm?”

  “You know Agent Storm?” He looks mightily peeved at the mention of Storm’s name.

  “Yes,” I say smugly. “He’s the one I work for.”

  “Then where were you yesterday evening? I didn’t see you at the crime scene.”

  The smug bastard. He’s got me there. I give him a smile that barely conceals my gritted teeth. “I’m not going to answer any more of your questions. I think I’ll call Agent Storm first.”

  “Look here, girlie,” he snaps. “I am a Detective Inspector from Scotland Yard, and if I have questions, you’ll answer them.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Your questions don’t seem to be doing either of us much good.”

  “I don’t appreciate your attitude! There is a girl dead and her best friend is missing. Where is your respect?”

  A girl is dead. Suddenly I feel the need to sit down, but I stay where I am, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “Is it Rachel who is dead?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because you asked me where India was. She must be the one who is missing.”

  “It sounds to me like you know more than you are letting on. Your name was on her wall calendar. Why did she want to meet up with you today? Were you in it together? If you know where she is, you had better tell me this instant!”

  “I don’t know where she is.”

  “Some psychic you are,” he says scathingly. “Or maybe you’re just a liar. I think you had better come with me.”

  Chapter 5

  DIANA

  I really really do not want to go with Detective Inspector Zael. I have a feeling he will throw me into a cell somewhere and I might not see daylight for days. Heck, what if the human police decide to search me? What if they see my navelstone? What if the whole thing escalates into some awful scenario far beyond what it is now?

  The rush of adrenalin surging through my body is making me tremble, and I am doing my best not to let him see it. My finger hovers over the secret alarm button, wondering whether to summon Theo. But what could he do? DI Zael is a police inspector. Even Theo can’t get me out of this. And it might make matters worse.

  I don’t want Zael to think Theo is involved. I don’t want to give him a reason to shut down Theo’s magic shop. Zael looks like he would do it in a heartbeat.

  “Okay, just let me tell my boss and use the ladies,” I tell Zael.

  “Be quick about it,” he snaps.

  I walk into the passageway behind the counter that leads to Theo’s workshop and his apartment. As soon as I am out of earshot of DI Zael, I call Storm. I tell him what has happened. Storm sounds busy, like he doesn't have time to talk.

  This is not how I imagine our first call in three weeks would go. Our conversation is far too hurried and urgent for me to feel any of the butterflies I had expected to feel given that I had been dying for an excuse to hear his voice.

  I hang up, and a minute later Storm calls DI Zael. I hear DI Zael’s phone ring, and I head back out to the store front.

  DI Zael looks furious when he has got off the phone to Storm. “You had better be there at Agency Headquarters at 4:00 pm sharp missy, or you’ll have me to answer to,” he says as a parting shot.

  By 3:00 pm Theo has finally made his way down to the store, nattily dressed in his usual brown tweedy suit that he somehow manages to look perfectly good in. I explain the situation to him. He agrees to take care of Beastie while I head out.

  “And I promised Mozz I would play a game with her, but she seems to have disappeared for a bit. Can you tell her I had to leave?”

  Theo does his best not to smile. “She really has got you under her thumb. She’s probably forgotten already.”

  “She hasn’t. She remembers these things.”

  “I’ll t
ell her,” he says, a twinkle in his eyes.

  AngelBeastie follows me to the door, rubbing my ankles, and then meowing ferociously when it becomes clear I have no intention of taking her with me. She finally hisses at me in disgust and retires to her spot atop the bookshelves, no doubt to mull over some way to punish me later.

  I arrive at Agency Headquarters with only a few minutes to spare. The receptionist gives me the directions to the incident room, which I find not far from Storm’s office. Storm is in there with his team — Agents Leo Kane, Remi Bronwyn and Aiden Monroe — along with Detective Inspector Zael and some other guy I have not yet met.

  I pause outside the glass walled office and take a moment to appreciate Storm. The man looks like he has stepped out of a fashion magazine spread called Detective Style. It’s more to do with his good looks and athletic grace than to do with time spend in front of the mirror. Someone should carve him in marble for posterity. Hell, if we’re dishing out wishes, can someone let me start by running my fingers though that cropped black hair of his and rumple it a bit. He is too tasty to look so perfect all the time.

  He looks especially perfect as he faces off with the obnoxious DI Zael. The two are having a heated discussion about something. Remi sees me and she waves at me to come in. I ease myself into the room and shut the door behind me quietly.

  “Clearly this India girl has killed her friend and run off!” DI Zael is insisting. “She’s a werewolf. The girls must have argued about something or other. The werewolf lost her temper and killed her human friend. That poor girl Rachel never stood a chance!”

  “They were foster sisters,” says Storm. “It’s unlikely that India would have accidentally killed Rachel after all these years.”

  “They were drinking for hours,” says DI Zael. “Maybe she got into a drunken rage.”

  “And where is she supposed to have got the murder weapon from?” says Remi. “Do you suppose she was carrying a butcher knife in her handbag?”

  “Agent Bronwyn is right,” says Leo. “This looks like a planned crime. Not a crime of passion.”

  “This is supposed to be a joint task force!” DI Zael snaps. “But it looks to me like you are running away with your own theories.”

  “That is not our intention here,” says Storm in a reasonable voice. “We have every intention of cooperating with your team, but you have to accept that we are more experienced and better equipped to handle crimes involving otherkind.”

  “And we’re more experience handling crimes involving humans,” says the young police guy standing staunchly beside DI Zael. “Rachel Garrett’s uncle is the mayor of her home town, and he requested a joint task force for this investigation. It won’t look good if you try to push us out.”

  “With all due respect, Sergeant Lowry,” says Remi tersely. “Rachel Garrett’s uncle is also India Lawrenson’s uncle. And Agent Storm has just said nobody is trying to push you out.”

  “Foster uncle,” says Sergeant Lowry. “It’s not the same.”

  “We’re wasting time debating this while the murderer is getting away,” says DI Zael. “There’s no sign of India Lawrenson. She is clearly on the run.”

  His words infuriate me. India had been so excited about Rachel’s birthday just three days ago. She’d been so careful about choosing the right gift. And now Rachel is dead and India is missing and this buffoon is intent on calling her a murderer without a shred of proof!

  “How do you know India isn’t a victim too?” I snap. “How do you know she isn’t out there somewhere, scared and alone and desperate for help? Or dying? Or dead!” My voice rises to the verge of hysteria at the last word. India can’t be dead. She can’t be. I’d told her to stay safe like it was a joke.

  I turn to Storm. “We have to look for her. What if she’s injured? We need a search party.”

  He holds up a hand to calm the flow of my rushed words. “It is already in progress.”

  “Scared and alone?” Sergeant Lowry huffs. “That’s unlikely. Not if she’s capable of savaging her friend like that. We don’t want another rogue werewolf on the loose. Not with the Wolf-Claw Killer already out there. The press will have a field day.”

  “India is a person,” I snap. “Not just some werewolf. You should be able to see that even if the press can’t.”

  “We’re not prejudiced,” snaps DI Zael. “Sergeant Lowry here is a werewolf too. But I expect you knew that, given you’re a psychic.”

  I look at Sergeant Lowry with fresh eyes. He is muscular and trim, with short black hair so straight that his gel has inadvertently turned it into little spikes which he keeps trying to smooth out. He looks just like any other guy.

  I had missed all the signs. He is standing well back from Leo, his eyes averted. He’d not met Leo’s gaze once in the time I’ve been here. He’d not raised his voice against Leo. I’d always wondered about Leo but never found a chance to ask. This must mean Leo is a dominant werewolf. So dominant to Lowry that Lowry is keen to avoid all possibility of friction.

  Lowry must be a lowly omega werewolf. It can’t be easy for him to be in the room with a dominant werewolf who is not of his pack. I know some werewolves work for the Agency, but I had never thought about them working for the human police before.

  “Good,” I retort. “I hope that means you’ll be giving India a fair chance.”

  “There is no proof that India Lawrenson is anything but a second victim,” says Storm firmly. “And we will treat her accordingly until we find reason to treat her otherwise. Is that clear?”

  Sergeant Lowry nods. DI Zael does so more grudgingly.

  “I plan on expanding the search today,” says Storm. “We will be including civilian volunteers who are familiar with the local area. Remi will organize the search teams. DI Zael, any people you can spare will be welcome. And if you can send us all the CCTV footage right away, Agent Monroe will go through it.”

  “My people are taking a look at the footage as we speak,” says DI Zael tersely. “We’ll let you know if we find anything.” He stalks out of the room, Sergeant Lowry trotting at his heels.

  “I’ll join the search team,” I tell Storm eagerly.

  Storm hesitates a fraction of a second before nodding. “Fine, but stay out of DI Zael’s way.”

  Chapter 6

  STORM

  Tuesday morning arrives bringing no good news. The search team had broken up at sunset yesterday without having found any trace of India Lawrenson. It has been four days since she was last seen. There are no significant leads on who murdered Rachel Garrett either.

  Rachel’s parents, Ronald and Alicia Garrett, had driven to London from halfway across the country yesterday to carry out the heart wrenching duty of identifying their daughter.

  Storm had stood beside them while Alicia Garrett had sobbed over her daughter’s body. She’d reached out a hand to touch Rachel’s face, to smooth back Rachel’s dark hair that was so like her own, but Storm had had to request for her not to. The forensics examinations were still underway. Preservation of evidence seemed a poor reason in the face of a mother’s grief.

  The pathologist had carefully left everything covered up except their daughter’s face. A white cloth had concealed her dismembered hand and the knife wounds on her torso that had been inflicted with enough force to break two ribs and almost cleave off a portion of flesh.

  The white cloth was a mercy, doing its best to disguise the fact that Rachel had been reduced to a cadaver. There was no need for her parents to see that. The memory would haunt them to their own graves. So long as they only looked at Rachel’s face, even with her eyes now closed and no hint of a smile on her pale lips, they might still see their sweet daughter who had departed for London with such joy, leaving behind the bittersweet melancholy of an empty nest.

  For Storm, speaking to parents about their deceased children is one of the worst parts of his job, secondary only to speaking to children about their deceased parents, the latter bringing back memories of his own childhoo
d. It doesn’t help that parents sometimes mistake his determined emotional shutdown as coldness and lack of caring. He is not looking forward to interviewing the Garretts.

  He had volunteered to interview them at their hotel room this morning, thinking the more homely environs might make it a less distressing experience for them, but they had insisted on coming into Agency Headquarters. They had wanted to see the workplace of those investigating Rachel’s death, to reassure themselves that something was being done to bring her killer to account for taking her away from them. For snuffing her out like she meant nothing. For not knowing that she had been their everything.